Lion-Heart
by Moon Witch '96
Summary: AU. OC. OC-INSERT. Areli Lannister. The woman who reincarnated into a world of Magic and Monsters. With a name, Lannister, that carries weight. It carries sorrow and pain and cruelty. It carries the legacy of Fools and Tyrants. But she is a Lioness with Heart, and anyone can take the Game of Thrones and throw it on its head if they know enough. Please Read & Review.
1. Ana I

_Ana I_

 _ **She died in ice**._

 _Or, well, to be more accurate, Ana Marino died in the freezing as fuck water beneath the ice. She drowned, to be exact, she drowned in a minute, that lasted an eternity and was also far too quick... She died beneath a layer of thin ice she should have known better to step on. She drowned in freezing cold water that sapped away her strength in a fraction of second. She died in water so cold that it felt as if she was **burning.**_ _And all because she and her sister Amy were fucking morons that got drunk and should have **known** better._

 _She **died.** Underneath the ice in a stupid accident._

 _But she doesn't think that explanation is poetic enough to what happened to her next. It didn't suit the nature of the song that was her life. Not to mention a fucking mouthful in comparison._

 ** _So Ana Marino died in ice._**

 _Her death was not something she really remembered. It happened far too swiftly, far too fast for her to understand 'Oh, I'm dying'. There was no grand final thoughts, no real understanding of what happened. In death, Ana Marino did not get the white light at the end of the tunnel. She didn't see her depressingly short life in a series of images just as she snuffed it. No relative came to bring her to the afterlife. No psychopomp came to carry her away. One minute she was alive, the next she wasn't. She hardly remembered her death, a by-product of the quickness that it happened, she is sure. It didn't help that she was drunk at the time._

 _She does remember that she had been laughing at the time._

 _It wasn't any type of laughter. Not a chuckle, not a small snort nor a giggle. It was that deep kind, the one that made you nearly piss your pants. The type of laughter that started in your stomach, and slowly made its way out of you. Without censure or restraint. It was the type of laughter that made you bend over and press your hands to your knees as you try to stay upright. The type of laughter that made it hard to breathe._

 _She can't remember why she had been laughing._

 _Just that she could hardly catch her breath as she cackled. And she was trying to catch up to her sister, Amy who was sprinting up ahead of her laughing just as hard as she was._

 _"Slow as **fuck** Anie!" Amy had laughed out, voice warm and slurred as she dashed forward. _

_Ana had been slipping and sliding on freshly fallen snow, freezing her ass off as she chased after Amy's stupidly long strides. Why her younger sister had inherited their father's tallness, Ana would never know **. Genetics could be such a fucking bitch.** It was late, closer to being early really, and freezing. They were more than a little tipsy. They knew better, should have known better than to go out onto the small pond next to their childhood home in the cold Alaskan night. __But they had had a little too much hot cider spiked with rum. It had been months, months since they had last seen each other. Texts and infrequent Skype calls were not enough. Despite the eight years that separated them, they had always been close. With Amy finally deciding to go to college at twenty-one, the six-months she had spent as a freshman had been the longest they have ever been apart. At her arrival, Ana had decided to be the cool older sister, brought out the cider and the 40% proof rum, and celebrated her baby sister's homecoming in style._

 _They felt like they were kids again after more than four mugs a piece. Fearless and unafraid of their childhood stomping grounds. It had been Ana's idea- she wanted to see the stars, curl up on the porch swing that was over her parent's deck and work on their fifth mug of spiked cider. Amy had been a troll and had tugged onto Ana's short hair, teasing her about the pale pink dye that clung at the end of her otherwise short and dark hair. She can't remeber what Amy had said, probably something to the effect of it being strange for a twenty-eight-year-old dying her hair such a childish color._

 _But it had been enough for Ana to lung at Amy, and for Amy to start to scream childish insults as Ana had raced after her. She had said something, something so hilarious to the slightly drunk Ana that they had both started laughing hysterically. She repeatedly told her how slow she was as she dodged out of the way of Ana's outstretched hands. Ana had responded with simply keeping pace with her faster sister, relentlessly following her, even as she skidded across the surface of the pond, her boots squeaking against the slick surface._

 _She remembered the crack beneath her sister as she had walked backward on the surface of the pond, laughing too loud to hear it herself._

 _That's when Ana remembered she had panicked. Her heart roaring in her ears as she had tacked forward toward her sister, so harshly that Amy fell and slipped and slid across the ice to land in a bed of snow. Her legs flopping over her head as Ana kneeled in the very spot her sister had stood._

 _Ana Marino barely had time to take a breath before the ice broke beneath her. The pond was deep- enough to go over her sister's head and she's more than a head taller then her and Ana is right in the middle. She remembered she had met her sister's beautiful eyes- bright brown and just like her's for a fraction of a second, as Amy flopped forward, a snarl on her face at the harsh push._

 _Then the ice gave way._

 _It gave with a startling cracking sound. Like the clap of thunder but right underneath Ana as the thin ice rippled and shifted in a monstrously and furiously rapid second._

 _When she had been Ana Marino, she had never been a stranger to the cold. She had lived in Alaska for all of her life, and this hadn't been her first accidental dip in the too icy water. However, their parents' small home is miles away from any sort of help and she's stupid and drunk enough to gasp in surprise the second she registered how damn **cold** the water is. An adult can drown to death in less than a minute. And that was exactly what happened to Ana. _

_She doesn't live long enough to register much after that first little gasp of surprise, or if she had, she does not remeber it._

The next thing she _can_ remeber is a long period of nothingness. An endless span of time of hardly registering, hardly understanding what was happening to her. She spent most of her first months thinking she is in a weird sort of limbo. Blind, coming in and out of consciousness. Everything dark and dubious. No sight, muffled sounds and scents she can hardly understand. She is so **_tired_** the majority of the time that she simply slipped between being awake and not. Barely consciousness enough to understand that she was awake, barely understanding anything at all, let alone who she had been.

Her mind is not weak- but _young._ Her body not weak and heavy, but underdeveloped. The first few months of her new life are vague, spent like long-forgotten dreams that are nebulous and distant. She slept so much, barely keeping coherent half the time. When she can hold onto herself, she can only guess that she is in some sort of limbo.

She doesn't quite remember when she realized she had been born in a word very different than her first.

It's only until she breathed again, in a different body, months after her birth that she remembered herself enough to understand how bloody stupid she and her sister had been. She begged anyone that was listening that her sister hadn't been drunk enough to follow her into the water.

That Amy had just stayed panicked or fished her out in a way that hadn't risked herself.

It is then that she realized that she is not quite dead. She felt her breath, she felt her heartbeat. She couldn't move, she could barely turn her head, but she was not all-together gone. Ana's mind does not come immediately to the conclusion that she has been reborn. Let alone she had been reborn anywhere but her original Earth.

When she realized that she had been reborn, she was more than a little freaked out. She focused on the thought that she was a reincarnation once she first began to see the world around her, vague distant shapes. It wasn't quite full vision, but a sensitivity to light. Her hearing is what truly clues her into her state as an infant. The sounds of voices that she didn't recognize speaking off handedly. Those voices becoming louder as they lifted her in frightful arms she stupidly thought were giants at first. Then logic had kicked in around her panic and she understood she wasn't surrounded by giants that could lift her, but instead she was _tiny._ Small enough to curl into the crook of someone's arm. The size of a newborn.

Denial came strong for Ana Morina at the prospect.

Being the size of a newborn in comparison to adults, her last memory of falling into the pond and inhaling- She came to one solid conclusion. Reincarnation. Rebirth. A new life. One-Up used. Being a _baby_ again and understanding the fact that after death came new life was not what she had expected, nor had even thought possible. Denail crawled in her mind no matter how much she couldn't come to any other logical conclusion. Reincarnation wasn't the sort of crap that she had believed in her first life. She had been a realist to the core. Her parents had been religious but had never pushed it to their children beyond a nagging to attend a Christmas and Easter mass, and she had long concluded to herself that after death there was nothing. It the end. She would rot and turn to dust, all that would have made her up would decay with her. She was a nurse, pragmatic and beyond entrenched in the thought of logic.

Her mental-crises is still firmly happening when her vision clears enough to distinguish not just light, but color and objects with any sort of accuracy.

But everything is so goddamn _big_. It's disorienting. It hurts both her heart and her mind to see the world being so much larger than should be. _What the actual fuck._ She wondered, if by chance or by the manipulation of this world's gods that the first face she sees is that of her sister, Cersei Lannister.

Just like that of her last life, where the last thing she had seen was her sister Amy's face.

The face that loamed into view, directly above her is small, in a sense. Small because the child above her is only four-years-old. Ana blinked, rapidly at the sight, at halo that appeared around the golden hair, shimmering in what she suspected is early morning light. It was a devastatingly beautiful face to see in a small kid. Like a cherub. That golden hair is vibrant and looked soft and glossy. Her skin is also a golden tan, warm and clear across a button nose and plump pink lips. Her thin brows are arched and set over lovely green eyes that are dark and wide. The little girl was frowning above her- plump lips twisted in a firm way she would learn was mostly her default expression. Another face, smiling, loomed into view next to her. Pressed into that long golden hair to beam down at her. The second face is nearly identical and just as pretty to the first. The distinction is that large, curious smile and the lighter green eyes.

She blinked rapidly at the sight of them, registering and squinting her vision at the sight of the two.

"They look ugly," and that was the one on the right, a girl, Ana guessed, with that high of a voice. It was a clear and a lilting thing, accent with something Ana couldn't quite understand, "Why is she so white? Why is his head so big? They don't look _right._ "

"I think she's pretty. And mayhaps he is smart to have such a large head," and that was the one on the left next to her, maybe a boy, voice nearly matching to his twin's, if a shade deeper, he reached out with hesitant fingers to touch her.

She jerked in surprise because his hand is so _small_ yet _not_ at the same time. Practically covered her entire head. He stroked, softly and with trembling fingertips. She registered that these two young children are hovering over like giants- looming and covering all of her limited vision. _Holy shit._

"They killed mother," the girl whispered viciously as she reached over to snatch at the boy's hand. Her hand pressed tightly into the tender skin of his wrist, tears come to her lovely emerald eyes, "This white thing killed her along with the other thing."

"They are not things!" said the little boy hotly, shaking the girl's hand away.

She snarled face curling into a spiteful expression that looked frightful on the face of a child.

"He's too small and she's too pale. They're going to die anyway, I heard the Maester say so. Come on Jamie, let's leave them to _die_."

The girl left quickly, in a swift movement that Ana can barely follow with her head. The small boy- Jamie- hesitated. He looked toward where his twin had left before he returned to look at her. His small hand reached over to pet her head for a fraction of a second. His brows furrowed, his eyes also filled with tears. Then he left as well. It was her in her weak attempt to follow him with her head, that she realized that something is next to her. Or rather, someone moving next to her. She struggled, and in a herculean effort, she learned she is not alone.

That warm wiggly thing that had been her companion for the majority of her new life is another baby. He gurgled at her, soft newborn blue eyes intent. One has a slightly overblown pupil that indicated that the baby had Physiologic anisocoria. It was a somewhat common occurrence of being born with one larger than the other pupil. She blinked once, slowly in slight incomprehension, mind still whirling at the sight of the two children.

The baby cooed at her.

Sweetly, warmly wiggling closer.

Ana tried. Desperately tried to register that yes, she is in a baby's body.

 _And my- our birth killed our mother._

She does the only thing a baby can do.

She cried.

* * *

 **Edit: 25 October 2019**


	2. Ana II

_Ana II_

Being a baby, Ana found, was the most completely and utterly boring thing to be, and possibly the worst thing about being reincarnated.

In the long run, it was probably the smallest issue with being reincarnated. Because there was so much more that came with the suddenly waking up again after death. Coping with her _own_ death was the issue of course. Losing everything and everyone she had ever known was another one. Understanding that she had no memory after her Death until she had ended up on her back, with, according to her shitty vision, as a three to a five-month baby. Then there was the whole implication of being reincarnation in the first place. The sheer _guilt_ of causing the death of her birth-mother and the resentment of at least of one of her siblings because of it, the endless mental crises of readjusting her life perspective to factor in the more dubious and nebulous to involve the actual afterlife. In her case, a second one after the first. But after what she estimated to be a couple of weeks passing with little to no change of her routine, she can only say that she was utterly _sick_ of it.

Because she was already so fucking **_bored_** of being a baby.

It didn't help at all that it was completely humiliating for a grown-woman of twenty-eight years to be thrust into the role of an infant. She suspected in complete fairness, since she has gained sentience, or fully able to form a coherent thought that she has become a fucking nightmare to anyone in charge of her. The wetnurse, _what kind of old stupid money is my birth family if they can afford and **want** a wetnurse, _is distinctly not her friend. Ana cannot help but be fussy and very reluctant to eat. Though logically she knew that the milk of the young woman can provide is the best thing for her to consume, she cannot help her disgust. She cannot help but remember the taste of actual _food- her kingdom for a cheeseburger-_ nor the fact that she is being forced to suck on a stranger's chest. Changing her cloth diaper was in the easiest of terms, embarrassing and at worse boarder-line invasive and violating. She also pinched and prodded and Ana wanted to simply kick her wet-nurse in the fucking teeth if she opened her mouth forcefully _one_ more time.

The young woman must hate her and Ana found that the feeling is completely and utterly mutual.

The old man that has a beard longer than Ana is long, is somewhat pleasant to her. He affords her some dignity if otherwise being completely strange. Unlike the wet-nurse, his hold is gentle. His hands were mindful of delicate limbs and he has even graced her with a strangely sweet smile on his slightly wrinkled face. He seemed to be some sort of health care professional, one that Ana decided must have been close to some sort of new-age caregiver. Because he checks things physically, from her and her twin's pulse to the rate of their breathing. Or he is constantly forgetting his medical kit which she seriously doubts. _I pray to fucking God that doesn't mean these people are anti-vaccine. I don't want my second life to end by the time I'm two._

She is doubly sure she has been born into privilege, not just because of the weird and antiquated need for a wetnurse or some strange beared dude giving her sweet-smelling concoction that she doubted had anything more effective than snake-oil and cinnamon. But because the clearer and clearer her vision became the clearer it was for her that she is living in a very _old_ place. The walls were made of actual stone. Some pale, creamy sort of stone. But stone nonetheless. They were adorned with what she thinks might be beautiful tapestries that she can only see as blobs of colors. The enormous windows that were floor to the ceiling had blobs of colors as well. _Stained glass? How fancy is that!_ The fact that the air is so cold, constantly drafty and is kept away by an only large roaring fire- _she can see the lights flickering, and the crackles are so loud that it makes her hiccup in fright sometimes._ And by fine as fuck blankets that they swaddle her and her twin in. Actual wool, _fur,_ and silk cover her, and the baby boy that has been her constant, drool filled companion.

 _He's the sweetest baby. Frightfully warm and clingy, but he is **sweet**. _

Her eyesight is slowly developing, the world is a frightful blur of indistinction and off perception. She can barely lift her head, let alone her arms and hearing is much more accurate. She can hear the wind howling as it battered against the windows. She could hear the mummer of people passing the room. She could hear her own breathing in the room when no one else is present, her and the boy that was born with her. It's terribly lonely. It's horrifically lonely to only have a baby as company that can't do more than gurgle cheerfully at her or gnaw on her hand. The only break is the _fucking_ wetnurse and the old new-age guy.

It's a sad, sad life. And made worse by being completely boring.

Her bane, her enemy for fucking life, made it worse by constantly complaining to the very old man that comes in to check on her and her twin every few hours.

"She's a bloody nightmare, m'lord."

Ana fought the urge to snarl. Instead, she only weakly moved her head toward the voices.

"It's completely baffling," murmured the old man, gently running his old, calloused fingers over her soft, fine hair. Part of her, the infant part, she is sure, relished the brief, gentle contact. _Preened_ in what she swore was the needed urge to touch, to feel human contact. The only time she and her twin have been picked up was to eat, and there was always a certain clinical-ness to the way the wet-nurse held them to her chest, "She was the most peaceful of the two and now she is completely restless."

She made a brief sound of agreement, huffing and coming to grip at his hand, trying to prolong the contact, because she felt small and afraid and knew for damn sure babies aren't supposed to be this touch starved. _Seriously, where the fuck was their father?_ _He hasn't come to see them once!_ Neither had those two twins, which she suspected were her older siblings. The man sighed.

"What has turned you sweet thing?"

She cannot respond. Her vocal cords are weak, developing and the most she can manage is a few seconds of a hum or weak gurgles. She wished she could speak- ask a question to know where the hell she is. Or to scream at the top of her lungs that she is a reincarnated woman that really doesn't want to suck on some stranger's chest and can she please have some _formula_?

But she can't. All she can do is stare at him and sigh her frustration instead. The old man paused, brows furrow. Soothed her with soft pats.

"To be fair she hardly cries, though, me lord," supplied the young woman, sighing slightly in clear irritation. Ana cannot see her, only hear her soft, slightly hoarse voice from the side.

She knew, however, that the wet-nurse is a woman that was in her late twenties, with brown hair, roughly hewed face with golden-tone skin and a steady deft hand at changing both she and her twin. The old man loomed closer, watching her with keen, sharp and surprisingly clear eyes for a man of his age, which Ana would peg at eighty or ninety. A large and harsh chain dangled down his stout neck, glinting different colors. Ana studied it, curious and reached for it with weak but firm grabby hands that all infants seem to possess. When she managed to bring it closer, she realized it is a chain of heavy, different colored links, different metal? _How curious. It's definitely a fashion statement._

"Her lungs are clearer," he said in response, gently leading her hands away from his chain, and then he leaned his head against her chest in a careful way, she wondered briefly, if he has lost his stethoscope, Ana knew that she had always managed to lose the damn thing herself if the head nurse, Tommy, hadn't made her carry one religiously around her neck, clipped to her shirt as well as one in her pocket. She relished the warmth his head brings, her hands coming to fist automatically into his longish snowy white hair, "Her heart beats stronger. As does the boy's. May chance the two live."

The old man lifted his head, carefully uncurling her fists from his hair. After a moment of hesitation, he brought a gentle hand to the fluff on her head, and she cooed at the attention, gurgling happily at the warmth. Vaguely, if she squinted, she can see the old man smile as he threaded his fingertips carefully through her hair. She can estimate that he must be very tall if all she can see is the vagueness of his face even when he is standing so close to her shared crib. The baby next to her, wiggled, pressing against her in a plea for attention as well that has Ana reaching out with a hand to grip his own arm. She suppressed a cringe when the baby stuffed her fist into their mouth, gnawing without teeth on her delicate fist. She allows it because the baby evidently isn't a reincarnated twenty-eight-year-old and just wanted touch as much as she does. She knew why she wants to touch, craved, and could get it better because of it but the baby does not. He just _wants._

"Well, tha' be good for his lordship, then. His wife died but his two new babes won't die with her, may the Stranger be good to the Lady Joanna."

"Clutch your tongue fool, Lord Tywin adored his wife like nothing else. The two babes are deformed, one a dwarf while the other has the skin of death. He will not be satisfied by either babes."

Ana froze, blinking in sheer utter shock at the two names. They spark on the familiar. She is so surprised she jerks her hand out of her twin's mouth with a sharp tug that has the baby whining.

 _No fucking way._

"But they are his blood- A gentle gift from his wife, from the kind Mother-"

"Tywin Lannister is not known for his need for gentle things. I fear with Lady Joanna gone, he has lost all want or need of it at all. She was his tempering hand, his conscious. And she is dead."

"I was only tryin' to say the kind thing."

"Young lady, in this household, the kind thing is the _stupid_ thing to say freely. Learn to temper yourself, or you will be punished for saying such things. Lord Tywin rarely suffers fools, and doubly so now. You are in the employ of the Lannisters of Casterly Rock, you must remeber your place or be evicted of it, more than likely painfully."

The young woman swallowed, audibly.

"I meant no disrespect."

"Meant or not you will feel the wrath of our Great Lord if you speak in such a way when he is present. Be silent, and go, girl."

Ana thought for a brief moment, that she is going to have a stroke at the influx of such a kind of information. _I'm…. I'm in Game of Thrones. I'm a Lannister… Oh God, I'm **Tryion's** twin. _The hysterical thought hinges on madness. The howl of recognition in her mind is also that of disbelief. Ana tried to deconstruct, logically, what the hell is happening to her. She does a spectacularly bad job at it. Because she is in a world that literally has heads rolling left and right. And she just happened to be born into a family that _fucked_ over half of the people of this world. She is screwed. Utterly and utterly screwed. She had been a fan of the show, if a little off put at its relatively graphic nature, and had never read the books more than a cursory glance before she couldn't stand the thought of getting emotionally attached to the Starks more than she already was through the television show because it did not _end well for them_. And she was frightened because… Well, she was a _Lannister._ She had _hated_ the Lannisters. Cersei and Tywin and Jaime to an extent, really, Tyrion had been the exception by being awesome. Even after it had been revealed that they had been played just as hard as the Starks by batshit crazy Lysa and cunning Littlefinger.

Because the Lannisters were not good, or kind, or just.

They were cruel and ruthless, without compassion or honor, all about their dubious reputation of a Great House and everything that Ana Lee stood against.

 _A Lannister always pays their debts. Incest Twins that bring downs a dynasty and devolves into a civil war of epic proportions. Cold as fuck and more than likely child abuse dick of a father via Tywin. Twisted and power-hungry Cersei. Arrogant Jaime, cocky, destroyer of two dynasties Targaryen and Baratheon, one justly, and one kept for his lover. Tyrion, intelligent, jaded by something out of his control._

 _Hear me roar,_ she thought faintly as she began to scream in protest. _Because reincarnation was one fucking thing, this, this was ludicrous and that wasn't how_ _ **shit**_ _should work._

"Oh dear, there she goes again," said her wet nurse as Ana lets out a wail of disbelief, "She's as gentle as a doe and then she just starts a fit- and if she starts-"

Next, to her, the baby, her twin what can only be _Tyrion Lannister_ started to wail with her.

"Hmm. Perhaps it'd be best to separate them then. I only kept them together because I thought they were not long for this world."

Ana took a deep breath, shuddering before she stops screaming altogether. She swung away from the Maester with a strength she didn't know she had and gripped at Tyrion. Tyrion. Her brother. He was so small... He was… He was just a baby. She thought of all the terrible things that happen to him, heart shuddering at the mere thought. _No,_ she thought, gripping the baby next to her, her companion of the last few weeks, months? With her mind whirling, confused and in sheer disbelief, she resolved that this baby, Tyrion or not, would not suffer if she could prevent it.

It wasn't in her nature.

 _I swear by Apollo the physician, and Asclepius, and Hygieia and Panacea and all the gods and goddesses as my witnesses, that, according to my ability and judgment, I will keep this Oath and this contract:_

 _To hold him who taught me this art equally dear to me as my parents, to be a partner in life with him, and to fulfill his needs when required; to look upon his offspring as equals to my own siblings, and to teach them this art, if they shall wish to learn it, without fee or contract; and that by the set rules, lectures, and every other mode of instruction, I will impart a knowledge of the art to my own sons, and those of my teachers, and to students bound by this contract and having sworn this Oath to the law of medicine, but to no others._

 _I will use those dietary regimens which will benefit my patients according to my greatest ability and_ judgment _, and I will do no harm or injustice to them._

 _I will not give a lethal drug to anyone if I am asked, nor will I advise such a plan; and similarly I will not give a woman a pessary to cause an abortion._

 _In purity and according to divine law will I carry out my life and my art._

 _I will not use the knife, even upon those suffering from stones, but I will leave this to those who are trained in this craft._

 _Into whatever homes I go, I will enter them for the benefit of the sick, avoiding any voluntary act of impropriety or corruption, including the seduction of women or men, whether they are free men or slaves._

 _Whatever I see or hear in the lives of my patients, whether in connection with my professional practice or not, which ought not to be spoken of outside, I will keep secret, as considering all such things to be private._

 _So long as I maintain this Oath faithfully and without corruption, may it be granted to me to partake of life fully and the practice of my art, gaining the respect of all men for all time. However, should I transgress this Oath and violate it, may the opposite be my fate._

Her sister had thought her an idiot, for being so obsessive to memorize the original, if translated, Hippocratic oath, as it was not something actually sworn to. At least not as beyond more than intent. But for Ana, it had always been a center of focus. A reminder of why she became a nurse in the first place, not just because the money was good, but because she cared about people. Loved to be helpful, especially if it was within her meager power. _Why on earth_ , she thought as she suppressed another wail, _hadn't she been born a Stark? Or a Tully? One of those honorable houses which she would have fit in well?_ But it didn't matter. No in the grand scheme, she thought, clutching and humming at her twin to soothe his crying.

Because she hadn't.

 _She was a Lannister_ , she thought with a twinge of hysteria, and she resolved right then and there to make sure that this baby, this boy next to her, who had this cruel world stacked against him, wouldn't suffer, because he was the only Lannister with honor, with a creed that was not pounded into them like it would to Jamie.

 _You'll be safe. I swear it, Tyrion Lannister because I will damn make sure of it._

* * *

 **Edit: 31** **October 2019**

 **Happy Halloween!**


	3. Ana III

_Ana III_

Ana was humming to herself when Jaime Lannister snuck into her and Tyrion's nursery in the dead of night.

It had been a couple of days, of her freaking out, _again_ over her bizarre as fuck circumstances before logic had won out.

She was not _completely_ in denial over the fact that she had been reborn as the twin sister of Tyrion 'pass me the wine' Lannister. She had known she hadn't heard incorrectly. It was hard to mistake a name like 'Lannister', 'Joanna' or 'Tywin', or even such a location as 'Casterly Rock'. And even if it had been a bizarre coincidence, or her care-takers took their LARPing way too fucking seriously, Ana was not stupid enough to rule out any possibility. _As tempting as that could be._ Ana could not deny the sudden and odd need for a _wetnurse_ of all things, in the Twenty-First Century. Or the crack health care professional. _He seems nice enough but seriously, I doubt the effectiveness of this man's teachings. If I hear one comment on the 'body's humors' or the '_ _bloodletting' I'm going to suffocate myself._ The fact that she was living in a _castle made of stone with stone walls and apparently no mother-fucking central heating..._ Really, a girl could only go so far in trying to rationalize. She could have heard wrong- infant brain and all- or it could be a horrendous coincidence about the world she has been reborn in. Shit like that just didn't happen, not really.

So Ana had three standing theories. One, it was the LARPing thing that her new birth family was way too into. Two, she was in a coma and this was her fever dream where she would live a life-time before waking up confused in a bed in Alaska. Or Three, she had been reborn into a parallel dimension where Westeros was very real and not just an ingenious fantasy series.

The main material point, however, was that Ana had more or less resigned herself to doing the only logical thing. Wait until her theories were proven. Work from there. Pray it was a coma.

 _Honestly, I'll take the LARPing at this point._

And in the meantime, go back to her main strategy.

 _Get myself through all those pesky child milestones. I am tired of staring at this fucking ceiling all day._

Because beyond everything Ana was unable to do _anything_ constructive as an infant and was still bored out of her newborn mind.

The most she could do was hug and console the baby next to her. And work on the fact that she was a developing infant with the mind and memory of a woman well in control of her motor skills. She could worry about every other insane thing later. So she instead of worrying about Ice zombies and dragons, she decided to dedicate herself to working on her body to gain independence as quickly as possible.

In one word, it really really _sucked_.

So she focused her limited conscious on one, her lack-luster motor skills, and training her vocal cords to develop enough to speak. She fell asleep way too quickly. Way too much. It was healthy for a baby of course, but beyond frustrating and annoying to deal with. She wanted to be able to do more. Testing and training her grip, her mobility. On moving her legs in practiced kicks and stretches, if she could get herself to just be able to _support_ her damn head she would consider that progress. Hence the humming in the middle of the night to try and mature her vocal cords faster, a disjointed bit of vowel and consonant sounds that sounded weak and off. Hence being completely unprepared when a small, cherubic face peaked over her, blond hair falling down as a curtain. She stopped in shock, especially when the person smiled, showing off the fact that they were missing teeth, and how brilliant their eyes were- like budding leaves at the start of spring if she were to get poetic.

"Hello," and the voice was high, sweet, soft and secret.

Ana blinked, and automatically, she responded with a soft murmur of sounds that were not quite a hello back, but at least it was a response. Most people didn't catch it- her lackluster attempts at speaking- whoever expected a baby to speak or understand, after all? The boy, who could only be Jaime, smiled wider. Carefully, as if afraid that he would hurt her, his hands came around to rest on either side of her face.

"I'm your older brother, you know," he said, surprisingly clear speech as he looked down at her, he only slurred his words slightly in that high voice of someone that was four or so, "Cersei says that she's my only sister, but Mother told me as the oldest boy, I would have to protect all of you."

He extended another hand to Tyrion, fast asleep. His small, golden-tanned hand slowly into Tyrion's thickening thatch of wild, blond curls. Gently, the boy ran his hands through, humming in a sweet if unpracticed voice. It was a pretty song, soothing and it washed over Ana in a way that made her heart jerk in her chest.

"So I will. I don't think you're ugly at all. You're both fine!"

Ana blinked, completely surprised, but is reminded of the fact that before he had revealed the truth behind the ordeal of poor Tysha, that Tyrion Lannister had loved his older brother, Jaime, despite all his flaws, for being his _protector_. The one person in his fucked-up family in his corner. And he had well reason too, apparently, if the smiling boy above her was any indication.

 _Well, fuck._

"I wish I knew what to call you," continued Jaime, completely unaware of the fact that he was shaking Ana's wild resolve to protect only herself and little Tyrion, "Father hasn't given you names before he left for King's Landing..."

The looming face's smile faltered, narrowing his eyes as he shook his head. As if he could shake away his bad thoughts by sheer action.

"Maybe I will get to name you instead!" he said, forcefully smiling again, "I think I could think of nice names. Cersei could help! Well, Cersei doesn't like you, but she won't always not like you. She mad about mother… But you didn't do anything. The Maester said so."

Jaime kept that smile. That sweet smile of a young boy cooing down at his younger siblings with no disgust. No anger, no blame. Ana blinked, rapidly. The word 'King's Landing' and 'Maester' slowly tipped it her mind in the way of Theory Three. All thoughts of extreme LARPing fell away at the fact that the four-year-old boy said all these naturally, without a stumble. She doubted any parent would let such a thing go so far, to normalize a role-play scenario to the extent of letting their child think themselves to actually be in a fictional character. Especially one as controversial and distinctly not PG as Jaime 'Doing-Your-Sister' Lannister. She wished she had the facial control to smile at him, to return his sweet smile. But the best she can do is not droll on herself and keep her mouth closed. So instead, she offered him a sweet coo in return, reached for his ridiculously small yet big hands with her hand to squeeze in what she hoped he read as affection.

"What will you tell me of them?" said a voice, from, distance. The thing that struck the most about the voice was that it was deep, smooth, the kinda of voice that captured your attention in an instant. But utterly cold.

"It seems that they will live, my Lord Tywin," came the voice of the Maester, soft, croaked and distant, "They grow stronger every day."

With a great effort, Ana turned her head toward the voices, frustrated when all she got was faint outlines with her limited vision, blobs of color against earth-tone walls in the dark. She gurgled in annoyance, twisting and scooting closer to the colors, trying to make out the shapes more clearly. The figures of color froze- in the doorway? She couldn't quite tell. The fire had dimmed hours ago. Having the vision of baby was _bullshit._ Jaime, to her surprise, curled around her, and over Tyrion, biting his lower lip. He was trembling. She squeezed his hand again, out of reflex more than anything.

"Jaime. What are you doing here?" and that was the first voice, not the Maester she had come to know was cool as a block of ice, displeased.

Ana froze herself, eyes widening. It was a stern voice that would make most four-year-olds cry. But Jaime straightened, deliberately scrambling out of the crib with a clumsy step. His hands, still shaking, were on her head and Tyrion's. She is struck by how incredibly small they are, despite how large they feel on her infant head. _Holy shit he can't be that much older then Tryion… And he has just lost his mother._

"I wanted to be with them. Cersei doesn't like to come-"

"Jaime," said what she assumes is Tywin Lannister's voice, he sounded irritable and tired, "Get out."

 _Well, isn't someone a bunch of fucking rainbows…_

"But Father-"

"Now, Jaime. The guard will escort you back, it is late and you have lessons."

Jaime gave them one last pet.

"Yes, Father," said the little boy, sounding completely small. No longer the babbling boy.

Ana watched them, faintly, as the small figure, dressed in what she thinks is all white, scurried away disappearing from her limited sight far to quickly. The two larger figures, come over, the slightly shorter of the two, came over to peer at her.

Ana wasn't a stranger to grief. After all, being a nurse in the ER, she had seen her fair amount of death and impossible situations that had worried lovers, parents, brothers and sisters, friends sobbing and helpless. She wasn't however, completely jaded to it, could understand it and find it in the strangest and hardest of faces. So when she saw Tywin's face for the first time- well.

She saw _grief._

 _The Lion that still had claws. But even lions can love. Even lions can lose._

She blinked, at this large looming face- she can't see anything of Cersei or Jaime in this man. Oh, he has their features, the nose, the high cheekbones, the curled blond hair, slightly overgrown to what she suspects is usually sheared close to his head. But his face is not as soft, but instead severe and his cheeks are hollowed out. His green eyes, his eyes _blaze_ in their grief, peeking in from his sunken gaze and dark bruises beneath. His face may be still as stone, but this man, this man is in _agony_.

"Genders?" he snapped, voice rough and coarse with lack of sleep. But still as cold as the freezing water that killed her.

"... Female for the pale one my lord, and male for the small-"

"For the imp. A second son then, a dwarf," he said, voice not growing in his anger, but rather going colder, freezing while his green eyes are still blazing, "And a pale sickly thing. I thought her dead if not for her moving eyes."

Ana blinked again.

"Yes, my Lord. Most curious. If you see, even her hair is paler..."

Ana's mind blaze with the information. _Melanin deficiency? Selective or complete ablism? Do genetic disorders run in the Lannister family? Well, I think Joanna and Tywin are supposed to be cousins… Inbreeding, not as bad as the Dragons..._ Unbidden, the slightly insane, whimsical thought that it is a reflection of her death, she's seen hyperthermia rendered corpses or people on the cusp, after all, the brutal paleness and blue-tinted limbs is brutally pushed down. _Bullshit._

"Did… What occurred- Before I went to her? Did Joanna see fit to name them before her-"

He can't even seem to say the words.

"No my lord. She just wished to hold them both. Then you came in."

Tywin is silent, then, eyes still blazing emerald in the low light, cooly, darkly looking at both her and the baby next to her. Ana exhaled a breath she hadn't known she had been holding, as she watched those blazing eyes sparkle with unshed tears. She wondered, at the fact that she doesn't remember her own birth. At that fact that she has gained a firm consciousness what she suspects is weeks later. Part of her is glad of it, as she watches this cold man drown in grief.

"I see. Are you sure they are to live the year?"

The Maester hesitated before he sighed.

"Yes, my lord. More than likely. They have grown in strength. The babes will live."

Tywin Lannister, from what she remembers in the show, has never shown weakness. Only cool contempt and cunning. The only time had been once as far as she remembered watching, and that was when Tyrion had killed him, and even then it had been a weakness of death and rage of disobedience. But that is years from now. _More than thirty_ , she thought, _and even the coldest of men that love have their moments of frailty_. And he displayed it as he snapped his eyes shut, bared his teeth, fisted hands coming to slam on either side of both her and Tyrion. A silent, impossible to see the shake of his shoulders as the reality of what has happened to his wife came over him. As she looked at him, she knew that this man is most likely only a few years older than her- _she's no longer twenty-eight-_ or perhaps even younger then she assumes, tempered harshly by the death of his wife, by being forced to slog to make his house rise above all reproach or mockery again.

The people of Westeros marry young, she knew and a Medieval does not lead to looking youthful...

 _Tywin Lannister is human._

She let out a soft whine, a soft keening in the back of her throat because she doesn't want to see this in anyone, not even this man, who she knew too much of. Without hesitation, without care, she rolled, hands clasping at his clenched fists. She hummed a weak gurgle that vibrates through her chest as she focused clumsily fingers at the man's fist.

 _I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

It's a chant in her head again and again because, _she wasn't even supposed to be here!_ Joanna Lannister has always been dead in her mind, a name drop in a show she had enjoyed. But the man hovering over her menacingly _knew_ that woman. Had just lost his wife. But she can't help but feel that it's her bloody fault.

 _I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

Shaking, Tywin Lannister wrenched his hand away, straightening. She nearly tumbled out of the crib, had it not been the wooden bars. She blinked, a low whine escaping her in surprise and grief. Because her only crime is dying and rebirth, all completely out of her control.

"They shall be Areli and Tyrion. It was the names Joanna and I discussed."

"I shall send the official missives, My Lord, as well as set to add them to the family codex. Their name day... Shall be today instead of-"

"Good. And strip all portraits of Joanna. Nothing is to be left in the castle, do you hear me?"

"Yes, My Lord Tywin."

* * *

 **EDIT: 31 October 2019**


	4. Ana IV & Areli I

_Ana IV & Areli I_

 _Ana Marino realized she's dreaming within a few seconds._

 _It's because when she lifted her head, she does not struggle with the weight of it. Her weak, underdevelop infant's neck does not buckle underneath the strain. Because she can sit up with little to no issue, and because when she looked around her, she understood that she is lying in thick, powdery snow and felt no cold from the substance._

 ** _I'm dreaming._**

 _The perfect, crystalline snow-coated her thin, summer dress made of cotton. The clothing was_ _ **normal**_ _to her, different from the long sleeved dress that covered all of the wet-nurse's skin, or the shapeless monk robe the Maester wore. The dress fell above her knees and revealed the scar she had gotten on her left knee when Amy had accidentally tripped with a snow shovel in hand and nearly shattered her knee cap. Thin straps, falling against her small body in a comfortable, loose way. The snow-dusted along the white fabric, a faint sheen of ice, somehow not melting at all. Her breath came in little white puffs from her mouth, but she doesn't feel the familiar sting of freezing air in her lungs, nor does she feel the burn of cold on her skin. Her skin is still the same shade of slightly bronze tan, not red or blue with the cold she should feel._ _She blinked, looking at her hands,_ _ **her**_ _hands, not the foreign, chubby things she glimpsed in her waking moments, and despaired at the fact that these hands were gone, that the callouses she had earned through diligence and hard work of Aikido had gone and died, leaving new, soft and tender skin in its wake._ _She looked away from her hands, from herself, not wanting to linger on what was forever_ _ **gone,**_ _and out of reach, and inspected the landscape around her._

 _ **It's a forest, dark and quiet,** she noted, blinking. **A dark and quiet forest like the one that surrounded my parent's home, that I had grown up with. The one that witnessed along with my drunk, confused sister, my death.**_

 _In the dark and quiet forest, Ana felt at home. A muted light filtered through the canopy of dark and green leaves, and in her summer dress she felt comfortable. She walked. Bare toes, painted as they had been, chipped pedicure of violet pressing against the snow. She walked until she found a_ _small pool, dark and deep, steaming slightly._

 _She shivered despite that, memories of bubbles escaping her lips in a rapidly decreasing amount, of cold so strong that it_ _ **burned**_ _and a darkness that crept much too quickly across her consciousness as she drowned._

 _She turned rapidly away and is struck by the freaky thing in front of her._

 _Vaguely, she recalled that the television show had completely and utterly failed to capture this. The framing of the tree in its first appearance had been from far away, had been centered on the entire area with the tree encroaching around Eddard Stark and panning with the movement of Catelyn Stark coming towards her husband. In actuality, there is no way that someone would be able to dismiss the sheer massive size of the tree, both physically and in an emotional sense. The vividness of its bark and of its leaves are so stark, so startling that she can't look away. The heart wirewood of Winterfell's bark is pale, frightfully so, whiter even then the crisp, perfect snow she was sitting standing in. The dark red leaves, and a long and melancholy face carved in the bark, its deep-cut eyes red, sap seeping as if it was freshly cut, not dried, are vividly red like venous blood. It is both haunting and beautiful in a grotesque way, and something crawled down her spine at the site of it._

 _She can_ _ **feel**_ _that she is not alone, that there is something, or many things with her, here in her dream._

 _She scrambled back, ever conscious of both pond and tree. She is not sure which is worst, really, a reminder of her death or the certainty that this world, this crazy as fuck world she had been reborn too, was a mystical place of magic and monsters._

" _I wished I had understood the merit of the Godswood, before," said a soft voice, gently._

 _She whirled around, squeaked at the sound of another human being in what she knows is a dream. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she registered that the woman, who must've spoken, is beautiful. She is a combination of tranquil and grace, of ethereal and warmth: she is golden blonde, willowy in limbs but generous in hips and breasts, and tall, and her eyes, her eyes are as soft as newborn leaves in spring. **Jaime's eyes. Mystic dreams?** She wondered and is alarmed at the thought. **First reincarnation into a fictional universe and now this shit?**_

 _The golden woman smiled, softly at her._

" _Hello Areli," she whispered, knowing and wondrous. Her brow, delicate and arched, furrowed then, "Though I fear the name Ana is much more comfortable for you at the moment."_

 _Ana was always quick to put two and two together._

" _Jo...Joanna? Joanna Lannister?"_

" _My, you are quick to understand, sweetling."_

 _The woman stood, all but floated to her, slender, elegant hands reaching. They hold her hands, firm, and for the first time, she felt a sensation in this dream, and she felt- Joanna Lannister's hands... Warm and soft. Gentle. Familiar. Full of something that she hadn't realized she had **needed** and missed._

 _Tears, unbidden, come to her eyes. Her vision blurred, that beautiful face a haze._

" _This… Is this real?"_

" _Do you have a reason to doubt this?"_

" _This is a dream."_

 _Perfect, full and lush lips twitch. The smile she gave was beautiful and it took Ana's breath._

" _Of course. But dreams are realms of their own. And all realms are connected if one knows where to go."_

 _Thousands of questions race through her mind, fall onto the tip of her tongue. Because there is knowledge in those spring-green eyes, in the wry set of those lips. Instead, she said,_ " _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you never got to raise your children. I'm sorry I'm an interloper in your family. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry I killed you."_

 _Joanna surprised her by laughing and by letting tears slip down her cheeks._

" _Oh, Areli, you are not to blame. You didn't not kill me, nor did Tyrion."_

 _Joanna Lannister's face blurred more, just a haze of colors, in the wake of Ana's own tears._

" _I'm sorry all the same. I shouldn't be here. This is wrong," panic gripped her throat, seizes her lungs, "I'm not Areli. I'm Ana Marino. Twenty-eight, I'm a nurse from Alaska! I'm a big sister to Amy, the daughter of Amelia and Arthur Marino. I shouldn't exist here, I_ _ **shouldn't.**_ _"_

 _Joanna hands, long and slender come to rest on her face, delicately, as one would hold a newborn._

" _Oh, my dear, Areli. You_ _ **do**_ _exist. Ana Marino died. Buried and mourned."_

" _No, please, don't tell me that-"_

" _But you know it to be true. You've told yourself so many times... But of course, you never quite believe yourself, fully, ever, do you, Areli?"_

 _Fury, panic and something she can't name clawed its way through her. She shoved Joanna harshly away, pushing the taller woman to the ground, into the snow, pushing the powdered top layer around her in an explosion of dust that caught the vague, muted light of this dream. She backed away from this woman, shaking her head, hands out to push her again if she comes to close._

" _NO! NO! I'm ANA MARINO. Ana Marino. Twenty-eight years old, I'm a nurse from Alaska-"_

 _Joanna sighed, sadly, and got to her feet, before taking a step forward. Ana took a hasty step back, screaming again and again what she is-was- And she felt a swoop in her stomach, a turning in her gut as her foot sinks into hot,_ _ **burning,**_ _water. She scrambled forward immediately, straight into Joanna's arms._

" _Areli Lannister," she whispered, soft, sweet and sure._

 _Ana struggled in the woman's grasp, who is frightfully strong for someone with such slender arms._

" _Please-"_

 _Gently, and somehow, that made it worse, Joanna Lannister pressed her lips to… Areli's forehead. She felt herself grow smaller, rapidly, and Joanna's limbs came to cradle her with the expertise of a second-time mother. Her eyes blurred, lost focus, not only because of tears, but because her eyes were not quite strong enough to catch up with her memories of clarity, and she could barely lift her head without Joanna's support._

" _You are right where you are meant to be."_

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

The dream made a few things clear for her. She is not Ana Marino. Not… Not quite anymore.

She is what she is.

She had never been insanely religious, had only vaguely wished for a higher state of being, of other beyond her body in distant, dubious and uncertainties. Science and logic had always ruled her life more certainly than any sort of vague inclination for something spiritual. Reincarnation and the concrete remembrance of being someone else made her more certain before in terms that there was something _beyond_ in the Universe. Even if that certainty left her with more questions and frustration. She had been given a taste of Universal- _Multi-Universal?_ \- understanding. _Death is not the end. Not completely. Death brought an end- but only to a certain degree._ She supposed the law of energy remained true. Energy can never be destroyed. Only converted, transformed to other energy, losing some of its self in the wake of that change, but still being, in concept, the same energy.

Ana Marino was her previous form. Her previous body, her previous self. It was not a cosmic fluke that she had been reborn. _You are right where you are meant to be._ Perhaps that she remembered, was the fluke, perhaps not. But that had not changed the very thing she had been in denial of...

Areli.

She wondered at that name, Areli Lannister. It flowed in her mind, lyrical and sweet, and in the dead of night, with no one around but her oblivious twin, she practiced the sounds on her clumsy tongue. Chanted that and her other name, _Ana Marino **.** **Old?**_ That implied that she had given up that part of herself, shred it up in favor of Areli, and that wasn't quite right. **_Real?_** That meant that Areli was a farce, didn't encompass _who_ she was now, so it didn't quite fit either. Either way it fell on her lips as a way of practice. She formed each sound of the alphabet, molded them around her teethless mouth. Training tongue and vocal cords alike.

She wondered if Areli had a meaning, a significance in Westeros. Ana had meant grace, which had always struck her as ironic. She hadn't been graceful- her stride had always come not from her hips but from the sturdy swing of her arms, purposeful and utterly squared. As Ana she had been short, barely edging on four eleven, with thin and coltish limbs that didn't quite work well together, with a round face with thin lips and high, thick brows, arched that had always made her look annoyed. ' _Perfect bitch face',_ Amy had constantly told her with a grin. Her eyes had been brown and her hair had been a mess of black, thick curls to her chin until she had dyed the tips pink. She had a pronounced cleft chin that she hated and a mole just below her lips.

She wondered what she looks like now.

She knew she's pale- people have not stopped bitching about it since she's been able to focus long enough to hear them. And it's a frightening sort of pale, she's caught glimpse of her reflection in people's eyes, a blob of white against their iris and pupil. She has seen her limbs, seen how frightfully translucent her skin is, blue spidery veins abound in her young skin. She really thinks she has a sort of melanin deficiency, though she isn't quite sure if its albinism, as it could just be something she grows out of...

She prayed that this damn world has some form of sunscreen, because it's going to be a _bitch_ otherwise if she doesn't outgrow her paleness. She thinks she's blonde, she is a Lannister after all, but she wonders if her eyes are blue, or green or brown again _(vaguely, she wishes for Joanna's eyes_ ), if she has a button nose or a full mouth like her biological mother. She can guess, by bringing her hands to her face, but she also has to remind herself that she's only a few months old at the youngest or a maybe nearing a year at the oldest, and that her features are ill-defined, full of baby fat.

She wondered, sometimes, when she can't even bring herself to _try_ to do anything if she has gone into a depression over what has happened to her.

Because after weeks of denial and wild plans to keep herself stimulated and changing the future she knows is to come, and that _fucking dream._ She had realized that she had not faced her situation properly, not really. She had stuck her head in the sand because her rational mind had screamed at her that what had happened on the pond with Amy was not _real_. That this, being Areli, was not real. That the boy next to her was nothing but a dream, a fantasy of something she couldn't quite explain… But that dream made her understand the painful reality she had pushed away, that she had hidden away with a determination of 'playing' her way through this world as if it had no consequence.

 _I died._

She doesn't want it. She wanted her parents back. She wanted Amy back. She wanted every person she had lost back- her job- her _life._ But it's not happening. She's not even sure if her memories of being Ana Marino are right, are supposed to happen. She wondered in her more whimsical moments if she is a freak accident of the reincarnation cycle to remember her old life. If she has accidentally fallen through the cracks of the universe she had originated from and fallen to one where Westeros was not just a story cooked up by a man inspired by Tolkien and English War of the Roses.

If instead, her karma is really just that _bad_ to end up as the twin of Tyrion Lannister, a woman in medieval society, one that might have a genetic defect on top of it.

But that is only sometimes, and she usually pushed that back. Because Areli Lannister had never been the type of person to mope in a rut of indecision and lack of focus. Because she was a woman, who, in a previous life had paid for medical school out of pocket and scholarship, that had scrimped and saved for herself, worked two jobs in crappy restaurants and grinned and bore it. If she can survive medical school without losing her goddamn mind, she can survive _this_. Whatever this is.

 _You are right where you are meant to be._

A sleepy gurgle broke her from her thoughts. She looked over, to Tyrion, a constant companion in this new life. His eyes, one with its over-blown pupil, the other a bright, had just started to change into a vivid green that seemed to be the shade of Joanna's eyes. They are both half-lidded, heavy with sleep and contentment. His hands, just like his mother's, are warm when they touch her arm, as he pulled her closer, his tiny, not quite strong body bringing her into a clumsy embrace. He came even closer than before, tiny, fragile body flush with her's, snuggling into the crook of her neck with a small woof of air that tickles sensitive, newborn skin.

"I'm… I'm right where I'm meant to be," the words are clumsy on her untrained tongue. Not quite right, too slurred to be understood unless you really paid attention.

In the dark of the Casterly Rock nursery, no one but Tryion heard, and he was much too young to understand. Tyrion gurgled an answer back nonetheless, a happy, soft thing that is done with an unpracticed smile. A _milestone! facial muscle development!_

Slowly, weak muscles in her own face shifted, and for the first time, Areli Lannister smiled.

* * *

 **AN:**

 **Edit: 31 October 2019**

 **I should be sleeping. I should be working on school work. But no. No. I just have to be on A Song of Ice & Fire kick. ****I know my muse is giggling their ass off at my expense, surrounded by friggin' plot-bunnies that she _loves_ to fling at me unexpectedly when she thinks I have too much focus on one thing**

 **I hope you're all happy.**

 **Some Notes of Things Mentioned in the Chapter:**

 **1:** **Aikido... I made Ana Marino know this for a reason. The poor woman has to have a fighting fucking chance in terms of self-defense in Westeros, and if Cersei Lannister couldn't bitch and whine her way into learning how to fight with a sword then I doubt Areli will have a much better chance. It really won't play a big part as far as the earlier chapters beyond a mention of her practicing katas, because that's not the most important thing. I also honestly think that everyone, especially woman, should know some form of self-defense. I have no formal training myself, but I know the weak spots(groin, eyes, stomach, instep, crock of the elbow, back of the neck, fingers), and I always carry something heavy(my big ass, heavy metal water bottle), pepper-spray, and a pocket knife with me at all times. It may not be Westeros, but I've already been nearly mugged in my life twice and followed a couple of times(ah, big city life). In terms of the story, no-weapon self-defense isn't, let's say, the best thing to go up against heavily-armored men with fucking broadswords, but it keeps you nimble, keeps you fast, and it isn't in Areli's nature to be vicious without provocation, so her stance will probably be more akin to get the buggering fuck away from anyone, and surprise the fuck out of anyone when she goes in with a few select hits and maneuvers.**

 **2: Most babies eyes settle for six months, but can change up to when they're three years old(at least for Caucasians, less pigment).**

 **3: Reflex smiles end at 2 months, and babies for real at about three months, which, coincidentally gives us an exact time frame for anyone who's curious.**

 **Year: 366, three months after Joanna's death. Time's a little blurry for Areli. But give her a break, reincarnation is a confusing business.**


	5. Jaime I & Areli II

_Jaime I & Areli II_

Jaime is careful when he sneaked to see his brother and younger sister.

Soon after their birth, the quick and confusing funeral where they laid their beautiful, warm mother to rest, strange stones blocking her eyes from seeing the world she left, the Septon whispering of removing the sight of the sinful world to allow her to enter the Seven Heavens without regrets... Jaime realized that no one wanted to talk about the younger twins of House Lannister. At least, no one wanted to be caught talking about his new brother and sister. Because everyone was talking about them, quietly, and saying words that both confuse and Jaime understands are unkind. Just like every time his father left for King's Landing, Casterly Rock seemed to take a break, every one slightly more relaxed as they went about their days.

The servents whisper behind rough hands. Of monsters and of the rains and how the Gods punish the wicked. Jaime doesn't understand. Tyrion and Areli are not monsters. They are small and sweet and coo and barely do anything. Monsters are large and evil- they gobble up little boys and girls- Uncle Gerion said so. The other members of the House, his uncles, his aunt, they all say the same thing. The fact that they won't live. That the two strange-looking things are going to follow his mother to the Seven Heavens.

But Jaime knew better.

He heard what Maester Curwin had said to his Lord Father. Tyrion and Areli are going to live, and that means that they are his to protect, just like Cersei was. Just like Mother told him. Little brothers and sisters were for the eldest boy to protect and Jaime always took his Mother's words seriously. So he came to visit his brother and sister, it is once again, in the dead of night. He is careful, making sure Cersei is asleep in bed next to him, and that it is just before the guards change shift. He is smart enough to get past men and into the quiet, slightly familiar space of the Rock's nursery. He had lived here, slept here, for many days before his mother had grown with child and he and Cersei had been gently moved to rooms closer to their parent's.

When Mother had caught Cersei touching him, he had been moved much closer to the nursery again, far away from his sister.

" _Let me see Jaime," said Cersei, eagerly, green eyes, a slight shade darker then his own, bright._

 _Jaime had been mildly confused but saw no harm in lifting his shift over his head. Cersei had done the same. Jaime thought that they looked just the same if had not been for Cersei's slightly longer hair, and the fact that she looked different down there. It reminded him of a cowrie shell he had found on the beach and he wondered why she did not look like him._

" _It's funny,"Cersei had said, hands reaching._

 _She had grabbed him, forcefully and he had winced. When she began to pet him, Jaime had frowned, and shifted away, only for Cersei to follow._

" _Touch me too Jaime. See how different we are."_

 _Jaime had not, only stared at his sister, feeling strange._

" _Stop."_

 _She had not._

" _Cersei, sweetling, have you seen your brother he's not in his-" Mother said, and she gasped, their daily drought that made his throat itch, falling from her hands in all mighty crash._

 _The glass and tonic ruined Mother's dress, red and simple. And she had stared. And stared. And Jaime had pulled away from his sister, automatically huddling in the way she was staring at them. Cersei had looked at mother, smiling._

" _Look at how funny he looks Mother! Jaime let me show mother!"_

 _She had reached again and Jaime had jumped back. Cersei had cried out when Mother had slapped her, not hard, but enough to snap her head forcefully to the side._

" _Get dressed. Both of you. Now," Mother's voice was as soft as a song, sweet and warm. Her voice then was hard and cold._

 _Jaime, crying had put on his shift. When his Mother reached for him, he had thought she would hit him too. She did not, only scooped him up and called the guards, telling them to stay outside of Cersei's room._

" _Do you do that often?" his mother had asked, face tight._

 _Jaime had only cried, not knowing what was wrong._

" _Jaime, answer me."_

 _Jaime had only nodded and cried into his mother's neck._

" _It must never happen again, sweetling. Never again."_

Just like before, he made his way to the elegant, elaborate crib. And just like before, Tyrion, his younger brother was asleep, and Areli, his youngest sister was awake. He felt, vaguely, cheated that he hadn't gotten to name them, but liked their new names anyway. Areli gurgled a greeting, softly, voice sweet and high. Her soft eyes squinted at him, before relaxing and she moved one of her hands in a way that looked like she was waving. Mother had said that it would take almost a year before babies could really understand and that they were too busy growing to pay attention to people, but the wave warmed Jaime's heart anyway.

"Hello again," he whispered, beaming.

She murmured, softly, gently, in a sweet way that had his smile widening.

Hesitantly, he placed a hand in her pale hair, _like starlight,_ threading it through his fingertips, marveling at how soft the fluff on her head. It was slightly different from Tyrion's hair, which was pale gold, paler than his own, but it looked like Uncle Tygrett's hair. Areli's hair was growing long, coming to rest across her shoulders in tight curls, much like his and Cersei's. No one had bothered to cut it, in the coming moons since Mother had died. Her eyes are clear, blue things, looked at him, carefully. He wondered at them, remembering that his mother had mentioned that babe's eyes change, and hoping he could see it happen in his sister and brother.

"I thought babies were supposed to sleep more… Mother said you couldn't play very much when you were born because of it."

The baby gurgled and moved her little shoulders. Had she not been a baby, Jamie would have thought she shrugged. She reached out, little face scrunched up in focus before she grabbed the hand he had on her head. She pulled it to her, and for a moment he thought that he would suck on his fingers, as Cersei liked to do, but the baby only placed it on her face and leaned into it. She hummed, softly, and Jaime felt his smile widen yet again at the small smile on her pale face.

"Do… Do you want to play?" he asked, after a moment, wondering.

The baby's eyes slowly opened. Her brows furrowed again, before she just watched him, without answering. He smiled, and slowly reached out to grab her out of the crib. Areli made a noise, not of protest, but of warning. Jaime blinked before he smiled at her.

"Let's play, Areli," he said, excitedly.

The baby was stiff as he went to lift her out of the crib, but, just as his Mother had made him and Cersei practice on a doll, he made sure to hold her head carefully. With that, the baby relaxed, tiny arms going around his neck and she huffed as he slowly made his way out of the crib. The baby was heavier then he would have thought considering her size, but she was so _warm._ She shivered against him, so he grabbed a blanket from the crib, a woolen thing he had seen his mother knit herself, before absently petting Tyrion as he passed. His younger brother hardly moved, only snorted softly, as curled deeper into his plush bedding. Jaime made his way, slowly over to the low burning fire, humming. He spread out the blanket, and carefully laid Areli across from it. Then he added another log, carefully, like Uncle Kevan had shown him how to do it.

"Mother always said to let sleeping babies sleep," he said, wisely, wagging his finger at his younger sister, "So I can only play with you, for now, Areli. I know how much it hurts to be separated from your twin. Cersei says it hurts here."

He gestured to his chest, tightening tightly across his sleeping shift, scrunching up the cotton material in his fists. He let his fist relax.

"So I'm sorry. But you're with me!" he said, smiling brightly.

The baby had looked at him. Before she had laughed.

Laughed for him, sweet and high, an impossibly nice thing that made his eyes prickle. Mother was gone... But Tyrion and Areli were here.

"Let's play, sister!"

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Areli watched as Jaime fell asleep, finally, around her, head curled absently into her stomach. His hair, a golden blond, was in ringlet curls, soft to the touch and very well cared for. Trying to entertain a four-year-old with a body of a few months was exhausting, but filled Areli with a warmth as she watched the innocence play across his beautiful features. Watched at the sheer simple delight he got in trying to play peek-a-boo, trying to get her to crawl with him, making little-roaring noises, claiming to be a lion out on the hunt. She could only laugh and smile at it, at the way he held himself, as he bounced about on hands and knees to play with his younger sister.

 _I am right where I am supposed to be._

"Oh, by the Seven," muttered a voice, and with half-lidded eyes, blurred, Areli listened as the Maester sighed, "Lord Kevan, call off the search, I've found him."

"Oh thank the Mother," muttered a foreign voice, coming into the Nursery, "Oh. Oh. My is that not a sweet image… Tywin is going to be furious that Jaime disappeared like that, no matter how innocent his intentions are. Isn't this the second time he's run off to find his siblings?"

"I imagine, my Lord," said the Maester, sighing again, "And yes. Lord Jaime has been most insistent on seeing his siblings… If it were not for the fuss that Cersei made this morning, I imagine no one would have been the wiser for it."

"How many lessons has the lad miss today?"

"Two. But as his teacher, I feel the excuse is justified, though I do not think your brother would agree with me."

The man, Kevan, hummed.

"No, no he would not… So, Tywin told me the babes would live?"

"Indeed, my Lord."

"I am thankful for that. I could not even come to them, for fear of seeing Tywin's and Joanna's children die. I am a craven, but I am brave enough to admit it. Go on and tell my Lord Lannister that his son has been found."

Footsteps, soft on what she had discovered is smooth, polished stone, come to closer, and she is surprised by the way the man, brother to Tywin Lannister comes and kneels next to her and Jaime. He reached for her, and carefully pulled her into the crook of his arm, gently cradling Jaime's head so it wouldn't slam against the stone, making his head fall into his lap.

"Hello, little lion cubs," he said with warmth, "So sorry I have not come sooner, little Areli. Look at you. So small."

Areli stared at him, cataloging the differences between this warm, slightly broader man than her biological father. She wonders.

 _I am right where I'm supposed to be._

* * *

 **Edit: 16 December 2019**


	6. Areli III

_Areli III_

 _She was back at Winterfell's Godswood._

 _She understood before she could even open her eyes. She felt it. If she were to be poetic, it was something deep in her heart, a certainty that felt supernatural that she was within the home of the Old gods of this world, on the property of the family that her own would tare apart if not for her existence. **How much history have I changed by merely existing?** She opened her eyes, clear, nearly but not quite up to par to her twenty/twenty vision that had greeted her the first time she had awoke here in her dreams. But it was well within normal infant development, as far as she knew. It had never been her jam, children, and when deciding her career as a nurse, she had with little thought or remorse crossed off both prenatal and pediatrics. It wasn't as if as Ana she had hated children- she does not think she ever could find it in herself to truly hate anyone, let alone an entire age group. She was a quick fuse but burned out much too quickly to ever feel a true grudge. In this life, though she understood she was literally a different person, she also did not think she would change either. But children were always so... Strange to her. Foreign and sometimes unsettling in how innocent they were. So, she did not know much about child development more than the most basic and vague knowledge. _

_But her eyes were strengthing._

 _As Areli, she was growing, her body, slowly, **so agonizingly slowly,** catching up to her mental capacity. The lofty and far distant goal of full automation was far off, but closer than before. _

_With her stronger, more mature eyes, she could see the sunlight filtering through venous red leaves. She was cradled by the roots of the wirewood, starched bones, on a bed of those red leaves. She is cradled in **bones and blood** … She can feel eyes, so many, watching her from the branches she vaguely sees in the distance. She is not alone, but she feels no comfort in that thought. Because Magic and Monsters are real and within her reach. Waiting for her._

 _She blinked, closed her eyes with the panic clawing at her throat. She cannot even cry or whimper, too aware of the things that watch her. **Waiting for her weakness to claw and tare-**_

" _Areli," said Joanna Lannister, warmly._

 _Areli's eyes open. Joanna is next to her, face soft and facing her. Since she was so close, her face was vividly clear, and so_ _ **young**_ _, barely in her early twenties. Areli said nothing back, not even a coo. Joanna only sighed, hand reaching out to lay on her head, threading slim, soft fingertips through her fine hair. She smiled and it is as beautiful as a sunrise, just as brilliant and warm. Areli sighed as well. It is a huff of air, it blew away Joanna's blonde hair, flyaway strands falling into her smiling face. It showed, how… Human this ethereal woman is. Because her beauty is marred by that movement, by that frustration on Areli's part._

" _I know sweetling. I am sorry to take away your false hope. But no daughter of mine will ever be in denial over themselves," she murmured, green eyes intent, "Least of all you."_

 _She said this every time. She always is adamant that Areli could not deny herself. It made the part of her that mourned the loss of being Ana the most want to scream, claw and at those leaf green eyes. But she doesn't. For one, she can't, for another, she didn't like the thought of violence. Her anger was misplaced anyway. She wasn't angry at Joanna, not really. She just angry at the situation. She was angry at death and loss, and while understanding this did little to soothe her violent emotions, it at least helped her not temper them._

" _Why… Why do I dream of you?" Her voice is sweet and clumsily. But it isn't the voice of an infant. Instead of a child or a young woman, it is ever shifting. Ever inconsistent between the two. Some of her words are an echo of the two voices, of her voice as Ana and something of what her voice would be of Areli. The dream is her world, she supposed and her communication skills were more on par on what she was mentally. Not quite a child, not quite an adult, somewhere in the middle._

 _And she had dreamed of Joanna, every night, always in the Godswood. The woman, more often than not, did not speak to her, only held her and sang lullabies. Areli on her part had refused to speak at all, even if the knowledge of the possibility had been hanging in the back of her mind. Now… Now she cannot help it. She… She was so tired of silence in her waking moments. Of being able to talk to someone who wasn't a babbling baby. She does not know if she can handle it in her dreams either._

 _Jonna hummed, again._

" _I wish to see you."_

" _Do…. Do you try to see them?"_

 _She wondered. Joanna cannot be attached to her surely, as much as she was to her husband or her two eldest children. Part of Areli denied, despite everything, that she was this woman's child. But part of her is already reluctantly accepting. **I am right where I'm supposed to be.**_

" _Your father is too pragmatic, too narrow to open his mind. He is so logical, he would not let me in And I do believe to dream of me would hurt him if he ever accepted me into them. Cersei is much the same. Jaime… Jaime cannot linger with the memory of me. He is so sensitive a child."_

" _And Tyrion?"_

" _I will haunt his life. I cannot haunt his dreams. He is too young."_

" _What of my dreams, Joanna Lannister? If I am your daughter as you claim, then I too, am too young to be haunted by you."_

" _You have felt death. Perhaps that is why I feel as if I must see you. You understand me." confessed the young woman, "And you are **mine** , Areli. My babe. If I can see one of you, it delights me that it is you."_

 _Tears slip down her sharp cheekbones, from her beautiful eyes. Hands reach, thread through her limbs, lifting her, pressing her to her breasts to nestle between them._

" _I love you, my Areli."_

" _... I'm sorry. I know you want comfort. But I just died myself. I don't think I can give you what you want."_

 _It was a struggle. She couldn't deny that. The woman in front of her was mourning as much as her. And she wasn't reborn. She wanted to hate Joanna. Wanted to hate her as she came to her, every night, singing and love and sorrow about her. She clung to Areli. She sang to her, loved her, and Areli wanted nothing more to be far away from this ghost in her dreams. But Joanna would not let her go, a mystical connection between the two that Areli could not understand or feel comfortable with._

 _The guilt of the woman's death haunted her._

 _The love she gave she gave so freely choked her and locked her into the understanding of being someone_ _ **new.**_ _To discard Ana Marino._

 _But she was not so sure she could_ _ **discard**_ _who she had been. If she had too, what was the point of remembering who she had been? If she must what was the point of being Ana at all?_

" _I know, sweetling. I know. I will allow you to mourn, to understand your new life. But remember-"_

" _I am right where I belong."_

 _Joanna smiled._

 _"Yes. And they will Hear You Roar, my little lioness."_

OOOOOOOO

Areli woke.

It is quick, her eyes flying open and her young heart is pounding. She licked her lips clumsily, blinking rapidly. She had not meant to go to sleep, but her infant body has its own rhythm that no mental capacity can control. She fell asleep at a drop of a hat, and every time she closed her eyes she sees Joanna in the Godswood, waiting for her. Longing to speak and sing and love her.

She sighed. Exhausted, in both body and mind, and in her heart.

"Hello again, young ones," and that's the Maester, briefly, she wonders if anyone will ever say his name so she can learn it, "How do you two fair as of today?"

So far, this older man is one of the few constants in her new life. Beyond her fellow twin, and Jaime, and the wet nurse, he always came, like clock-work, to inquire or check on them. Every few hours, every day. Her biological Uncle, Kevan tries, but he is more or less in charge of the castle- Casterly Rock is no easy thing to run she is sure, and he has his hands full. At most, he can see them once a week, if that. She has never seen Tywin again, as he is in King's Landing more often than not as Hand of the King and Cersei is just as absent. Gentle hands descend on her twin, carefully checking his frightfully small limbs, cradling his larger than normal head, checking his pulse and breathing. He worked carefully and delicately, humming as he did. She noted, with a small amount of hope, that perhaps this world is far more gentle than what she expects. She usually squashed down that hope rapidly because while it does great things for her morale, she has always been a realist. The world is a harsh one, and she did not want to place herself in a position of ignorance and hope. She did not want to die so early in this new life, despite how much everything is already stacked against her.

She still remembered the look on her Tywin's face, after all. The man, grief-stricken, did not look as if he wished to show her or her twin any care.

"Well, young Master Tyrion," said the Maester with a slight cheer, "You seem to be completely healthy if a sore because of the stiffness of your limbs."

The old man proceeded to massage the boy's tiny, shorter than average arms and legs. He does it for stimulation and stiffness of the poor underdeveloped muscles. Areli gurgled, gently, in approval. The Maester looked at her, a small smile quirking on his lips.

"Happy little thing, are you not?" he murmured, in faint approval, "Hardly cry, don't you sweetling?"

She gurgled in answer, not even bothering to try and form words in front of him. She had a couple of months, logically, until any form of language would be acceptable. She's using Tyrion as a measuring stick, and while she planned on improving her mobility and language skills, she's not going to show her cards without Tyrion getting there first. She doesn't see the point of doing so, and she really doesn't want more attention on herself beyond necessary. She thanks whoever is listening that Tyrion is intelligent, as that means she has less time to be confined to baby actions.

"Your mother would have loved you both."

She blinked, surprised and turned away, her mind on newborn leaves as eyes and a gentle kisses to the temple, of cradling limbs of both flesh and bone and bleeding trees.

She needs not the Maester's comfort.

Her dreams are proof enough.

* * *

 **EDIT: 16 December 2019**


	7. Areli IV

_Areli IV_

Tywin Lannister returned to her life as many people seem to, catching her unawares as she stares bored, above her, her twin asleep and huffing gently against her sensitive skin, a silent comforting presence.

At first, she was trying to entertain herself by humming a song beneath her breath. The embers of the fireplace are low and almost gone, the once frequent crackle and pop of the wood are few and far between. She tended to be that, just plain _bored_ when the crushing depression of her situation is not weighing her down. She just tried and tried and tried to keep herself entertained. She did stretches, she did kicks, she sang and hummed alone and tried to form clearer and clearer words. She brushed her hands through Tyrion's hair, she massaged his limbs to help him, made him follow her stretches and kicks, and he usually followed with a cheerful giggle and a happy coo.

The man loomed into sight, silent as a spectator and she can only jump as he looked down at her. He is alone this time, silent and green eyes, so dark that they are nearly black in the low light, staring.

She can still see grief in him.

His face is carefully blank, carefully arranged, stubble was gone to smooth skin and sort of ridiculous mutton chops. His hair is closely cropped, shaved to only a faint fuzz, golden and dark. But beyond that, she can see the heavy lines of lack of sleep beneath his dark eyes, a tightness to the set of his thin mouth, a paleness to his skin, perhaps a lack of elasticity in neglecting his health.

She pitied him.

She pitied him as she pitied Joanna, the phantom in her dreams. That pity grows, each night as the woman sings and whispers words of love in her ears, underneath the boroughs of blood and leaning against the bone of the heart tree. And she feels so much _pity_ at that moment as the man came to stand next to her shared crib, watching as he does, both for herself and for the man that loomed over her. She would be quite content not to be here, the biological daughter to this man, and he would be happy to have his beautiful wife. If she could, she would gladly swap places, she would gladly be dead wholesale instead. It was much easier to be dead then to have a second chance at life in a world so different from her own. But just, as Joanna told her every time she fell asleep, _I am right where I'm supposed to be._

"Do you not sleep?" he asked her. His voice is deep. It is a smooth bass, and seeped into her bones, lovely and so frigidly cool, "I swear every time I see you awake, you pale thing."

She shivered in the warm wool of her crib.

His hands come down, carefully, large and deeply calloused, and pulled at the blonde curls of her head. It is an entirely gentle movement, careful not to pull too hard. It's in that gesture that she remembered that he is a father of four very young children. Two of which she bets meet every one of his expectations. She still is frighted of that hand, holding her hair. Because she knew how much pain this man can cause, she knew how frightfully delicate her new body is. She is fragile and so easy to kill.

"All of you is without color. You are a white thing. I can see your veins, blue spidery things across milk-white flesh. You look a corpse."

He frowned. It is a slight downward tilt of his lips. So slight that she can barely see that pull of his muscles.

"Save your eyes. You… You have her eyes. Already they have turned from the blue of birth to her eyes. It would be much easier if you did not have her eyes."

Areli blinked.

 _So I have Joanna's eyes… Nice to know._

"You should have died in her stead," he whispered it like a secret, the great Lord of Casterly Rock, confessing what seems to be his greatest wish in the dark of the nursery of his home, "Both if not at least one of you. Joanna should be here, not you. You left her bleeding beyond imagination. I can still smell it in my sleep, the scent of death and blood and how she smiled at both of you even as she slipped away."

He must think himself really alone, unknowing to his witness bellow him, his youngest biological daughter hearing as he wished for her death. The grisly scene of her birth and Joanna's death. She wished this would stir her anger, her hatred for her vague knowledge of this man… But she understood him, has seen his like in so many people like him from working in the ER. Needing to blame something, anything but fate itself for the loss of someone they loved. She had, in her last life, received all forms of grief from strangers, the hatred for 'not doing enough', the gratitude for trying to save a loved one. She had bared both, had understood both and did not allow those potent emotions to stop her in her work as a nurse that just wanted to _help._

Tears prickle and she lets them fall. Carefully, ignoring the possible repercussions, she pressed herself into the fist he has made around one of her long curls. She thinks of the song Joanna had sung to her just before she had woken up and she opened her mouth to sing it as well. She doesn't bother with words, she disliked the way they sound clumsy on her still unpracticed tongue and toothless mouth, but rather a wordless imitation of the song.

Tywin froze, all muscles stiffening at the sounds coming from her throat.

It is clear and high, sweet as birdsong or the chime of bells. Even to Aleri's ears, it sounds… _Inhuman_ , but it is a vague thought. This is the world of Monster and Magic, after all. If she were a more fanciful person, as someone reincarnated she would think she was an example of both.

 _Unnatural and Magic._

"Joanna adored that song," he whispered, and she faltered at the fact that his voice has grown hoarse, "She would sing it to Jaime and Cersei in their crib. She sang it to me before I began to court her. She… She said it would remove my unpleasant expression."

Green eyes so dark look at her. Almost pleading.

His eyes, cool and assessing, no longer red-rimmed as they had been, but instead were a frighteningly dark green. Jaime's had been as soft as and pale as the new leaves of spring as had Joanna's, but his father's eyes are as full and dark as the fruitful color of summer leaves, sparked with golden flecks. They would have been incredibly beautiful, but the color wasn't the only thing striking in his eyes. They were… Cold now. No longer blazing fury. But rather still, cool, calculation.

But as he looked at her she saw something past the cold. Saw a man who had lost his world.

Areli opened her mouth again and sang until the Great Lord of Casterly Rock left, just as the light of Dawn came to the nursery.

He left as he had come, silently.

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

 _Joanna smiled._

 _It is a bright, grateful thing. As lovely as anything that Areli has ever seen in either of her lives. And it, despite everything, has something in her heart warming at the sight. Joanna_ _pressed kisses to Areli's temple, her cheeks, nuzzled her nose against her own smaller one, humming gently a wordless trill of joy. Her pleasure is apparent, her gratefulness even more so. And it seeped into Areli wordlessly and she can only sigh._

" _Thank you, sweetling. Your father needs more gentleness then most would think," whispered Joanna, and her voice is warm and joyous, as she pressed another kiss to her brow, one that lingered sweetly._

" _Must I be the one to give it to him?" her question is not angry, just soft and tired._

 _She feels so **tired** , all the time. She felt even in her sleep, she gets no escape. Joanna is always __**there.**_

" _Who else is there?" demanded Joanna, voice still infused with joy._

" _He has three other kids."_

 _Joanna gave a soft, lovely laugh. She rocked Areli softly in her arms._

" _Cersei is self-centered. Jaime is too content with what is given and Tyrion wants from Tywin."_

" _So it is left to me, the changeling in your household?"_

 _Another smile._

" _You keep denying yourself, doubting your place. You are Areli Lannister of Casterly Rock. You are-"_

" _Right where I am supposed to be."_

 _A giggle. Sugar sweet._

" _Exactly! You know the words, now it is only left for you to believe them."_

 _Areli sighed again._

" _Give me time. Just… Give me time. I need that. I deserve that."_

" _My gentle-hearted girl. Use it well. Heal as you wish, but do not forget to touch those who need you."_

* * *

 **EDIT: 16 December 2019**


	8. Tywin I & Joanna I

_Tywin I & Joanna I_

The babe is asleep in the small transportable cradle he had had commissioned for his elder children, but four years ago. It can house two babes- Joanna had insisted on it, desperate for the need to keep their elder twins together- but at the moment he has the one. She is draped in red silk and golden, fine wool. It made her whiteness all the starker. It highlighted the blueness of her skin, of how much she looked a corpse, against the warm colors of their House. It is only the way her small chest moved, and how her eyes- _Joanna's eyes-_ closed, highlighted how her starlight eyelashes fluttered long and like bird wings, a shade darker then the paleness of her skin. Her lips thin and small, look almost blue trembling in her sleep.

"Tywin, your daughter is missing!" came a voice, high and distressed.

Tywin flickered his gaze to his only sister, Genna Lannister ( _never a Frey)_ as she burst into his Solar without knocking or announcement from the guards positioned at the end of the hall. Her cheeks, full and rosy from exertion, are contorted in a frown, her dark green eyes wide with panic. Behind her is Maester Curwin, wheezing, holding onto the Imp. No doubt they has just come from the nursery, a few floors below his Solar. Tywin knew that Genna's assessing eyes had searched for the babes as he had greeted her home last night, just a tick mark after his own arrival. They had been mostly outlying family, preparing for the coming visit of the Princess of Dorne. Genna, with her little pathetic husband by her side, had looked for her newest relations, disapproval had been clear, the furrow in her brows as she had realized the babes were not in the greeting party. His excuse had been their young age, but the reality had been his disgust to show them to _anyone_. He was the ridicule of the Seven Kingdoms, _again,_ from the birth of the twin monstrosities. Genna had forced cheer to greet her four-year-old niece and nephew, her eyes searching but not scolding. But that had been before.

Before his unrest last night had driven him to the nursery.

Before he had heard _her._

"Do you not knock, upon entering your Lord's solar?" is his response, calloused hands drifting, calmly making a show of refilling his quil. He tried to ignore that he has yet to touch his correspondence since he had woken up, fetched the girl from the Nursery just mere hours after he had left her. That he had sat idle, just waiting for the girl to wake up.

Genna frown deepened, as she pressed a hand to her heaving, enormous bosom, attempting to catch her breath.

"Forgive me. Most uncouth of me," she gave a perfect curtsy, golden and rosy hands flickering with her impatience. Behind her Curwin and the guards follow suit into deep bows, "But we had thought the girl taken!"

Curious eyes look to the mobile crib, her fine brows furrowing.

"Areli is in there, is she not?"

"Yes."

He does not explain himself. And he would not as was his right as Head of his House.

 _What could I say?_

"It stands that you have taken the liberty to grab one of the newest of the Great House of Lannister and not the other. And told no one of it."

Tywin raised a brow of his own, carefully controlled mask still. He does not like the reprime he hears in his exasperated sister's voice.

"They are my children," the words are bitter on his tongue, his voice growing colder because of it, "I saw fit to bring the girl to my Solar. What is there question about that?"

He wrote on fine vellum, hand moving quickly and without flourish into expensive red ink and then across the page. His hand is steady, even if all he wrote were the words to Joanna's song. He dismissed their concern completely to look as if he is in deep concentration.

Genna hummed. It is not a happy sound, he can see at the edge of his vision that she has bared her teeth. A growing sign of her anger, of her displeasure.

"I grant you that much my brother. But must you send your house in an uproar?" her voice, in her irritation, had grown louder, "We thought the baby _GONE!"_

Tywin eased his his fine eagle feather quill down, carefully cleaning its nib free of his fine red ink. He even proceeded to sharpen it with the knife he kept at his desk for the very purpose. He closed his inkwell with a deliberate click, the golden maw of the lion snapping ominously into the now silent room.

He stood.

Genna, realizing her mistake, closed her lips over her exposed teeth. He carefully kept the quill knife in hand. Genna's chin wobbled for a fraction of second before she swallowed thickly and dipped her head in deference.

"My Lord Lannister, my apologies," her voice still holds a touch of irritation, but the apology is true.

Tywin, as if he never heard her, put away the quill knife. He looked at his sister, the Maester with the Imp in his frail arms. Part of Tywin wishes that he would drop the thing on his fragile _head._ But he had promised Joanna. He had sworn to her as she lay bleeding in his arms that he would protect their children- all of them- and keep their House prosperous.

"Are you finished?" he inquired, softly.

Genna sighed.

"Tywin."

"Well?"

"Yes, brother."

"Good. Do not question me, my Lady."

Tywin sat, his palms flat on the desk. His gaze flickered to the baby. Something in Tywin's stomach coiled as those starlight lashes flutter, as she macked those lips in drowsy motion. Then those green eyes clear, focus as they open. The pale brows, hard to distinguish from her skin, furrow. He saw her panic, hands plump and showing her health despite the pallor of her skin, searching for her twin. She does not cry, only makes a brief sound of distress before she seemed to swallow the noise forcibly down. He felt his own brow tighten, before carefully reaching out to press his hand on the girl's stomach. She is small. Smaller than Jaime had been, the smaller of the two twins, at her age. So small that her stomach fits the span of his fingertips. At the gesture, the girl stilled. She even stopped breathing.

Green eyes look to him.

They widen and blink rapidly. Her little breath came in a woosh. He felt her chest expand, through wool and silk. She is still entirely too still. Starlight lashes flutter.

"Tywin?"

He blinked, hand still on the girl, looking toward his sister.

"Are you alright?"

He frowned. And then he feels himself still as small fingertips curl around his. He turned back to the girl. Sees her, hands so different from his golden skin, holding carefully onto his thumb, his forefinger. Those starlight eyelashes flutter and she astounds him by sitting forward. She sits up, much sooner than either Jaime or Cersei, who Joanna had told him had been sitting at seven moons. It has been only five since the girl's birth.

"She's sitting!"

The girl is looking at him. Her mouth pulled into a frown. He stared back, intensely.

 _Sing. Sing again._

Tywin is nothing but control. But he wishes to hear the song again, in that _voice._ In front of his sister, Maester and guards, he cannot bring himself to ask out loud.

"How amazing-" Genna faltered. In her enthusiasm, she seemed to forgotten that she already has his ire. His sister, possibly the wisest of his siblings, fell silent.

The girl is still just staring at him. Does not make a sound, only breathed, before her gaze flicker to Genna, who had come around his desk to look. Genna stopped. Nearly slips back in her silk slippers. The girl's gaze focused on Genna, her grip tightening on his thumb. Blue tinted lips tremble.

"Hello, sweetling," the girl made a noise, almost of protest at the endearment from his sister's mouth.

Genna reaches. The girl stared her down. Her hand returned to her side. The hold on his fingers tightens further.

"She has Joanna's eyes… But your gaze, brother."

He saw it. Never seen such a stern gaze from an infant, then again, he knew few babies. He had been in Royal Court for the majority of the year his first children had been born. He had paid little mind to the young princeling years before, never mind any other babe at Court or within his House.

"So she does."

It is an acknowledgment. It is hard to articulate the struggle of admitting such a thing, even aloud. To think that she had come from him, as had her monstrous brother. But… The _song_. Tywin is not a sentimental nor fanciful man. But the sound of… His daughter's voice, singing his wife's song sweetly and in warmth to him. Tywin is also an honest man, especially to himself.

And he wished to hear it again.

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

" _You seem unsettled."_

 _Areli shifted, cradled in a bed of red leaves. Her blue lips tremble. The eyes that look at her are her own, a legacy Joanna is pleased to see, given to her youngest daughter and her eldest son. They look at her with confliction in them, with the unease of what has just transpired, of where Areli had fallen asleep._

 _Joanna Lannister smiled, knowing and humming beneath her breath._

" _He isn't supposed to be this way," is Areli's small protest, in her gentle voice, sweet as honey, soft and confused._

 _Joanna smiled, brilliantly at the confusion on her daughter's part. She knows that Areli is a gentle soul. She had, upon seeing her vestige of her past life, seen that she also had knowledge if vague of the goings-on of Westeros. Of what the Great House of the West, of what the name Lannister meant. Especially when it came to her husband's more brutal tactics. But she supposes it was a shallow knowledge… Or a highly moralistic one. She sees it, in her daughter._

 _The morality of a gentle world that new little strife and struggle on the scale of Westeros._

 _She sees her good heart and goodwill, the brilliance and frankly the purity of her kindness and compassion._

 _Joanna adored her for it._

 _Areli will be good and gentle, will be kind and loved by all who knew of her. But she also knew her daughter was swayed by her kind emotions, more so than any noblewoman should. It was a dangerous temperament, especially as a daughter of Tywin Lannister. She was, at best, in danger of being taken advantage of, and at worst a weak link. Joanna, realized, very early in their strange relationship, that Areli was much too similar to herself. Only Joanna had learned to temper her kinder impulses, learned at the feet of princesses within the Royal Court the intrigue and dangers that came with being a noblewoman._ _And Tywin…_

 _Tywin had been Joanna's balance, much as she had been his._

 _Her husband had been her opposite, hard and brutal, and together they had balanced each other. She had been Tywin's temperance. Tywin had been Joanna's temperance. They had balanced the other and together had made a powerful couple. And more importantly, been madly, wildly in love._

 _Areli would find her balance, hopefully in a good match, if perhaps in a friend. She would also have to learn. She was a lioness of the Rock. She was a Lannister. The glory of the House, the greatness and power they held… Areli would learn and she would be_ _ **glorious**_ _. Joanna felt it, understood that in death what her daughter would bring in her wake, even if she did not know the specifics. Her gentleness would perhaps hinder her, or give her a new perspective, but it would not paralyze her. Or have her deny her duty to her House, to her_ _ **family**_ _. Tywin would make sure of it, if only for the sake of the house and perhaps, if Areli was able to sway him as Joanna once had, for Areli's sake. She hoped Areli would, not replace her, but rather sway her father in ways similar enough as she had in life. She did not think that Cersei, Jaime, nor Tyrion were capable of it._

 ** _But this girl, this baby? I think she will be what my husband needs._**

" _And what did you expect of him?" she asked her youngest._

" _Not this. It's hard to gather fury and disgust in the wake of suffering."_

 _Joanna hummed, fingertips sliding through thick curls, pale and fine. Areli leaned into it. As indifferent as she tries to act, she knew her daughter was not immune to her love and affection. It heartened her, gave Joanna the strength to return to her youngest's dreams. She, touched by the Stranger, bound to Joanna because of it, could not deny, at least on a subconscious level that they were truly mother and daughter._

" _You want monsters and villains. And believe Tywin to be the best candidate for it."_

" _Yes. But it's more than that. I know what he's capable of. I_ _ **know**_ _how he will treat his children-"_

" _You seem to forget that you are his daughter. You also seem to forget that you really do not know the man."_

 _Pale brows furrow, and green eyes narrow._

" _I guess I don't-"_

 _Joanna smiled, sharply. She saw weakness. She saw hesitation. And she pounced upon it._

" _Learn sweetling. Learn to know my husband, your father. He is not as monstrous as you think him."_

 _He could be. Joanna is no fool and the strings of the_ _ **Rains of Castamere**_ _had never failed to unsettle her. But Joanna believed that all men had the capacity. Her husband was ruthless, ruled with fear and might. But she loved him. Loved the rare moments where the Great Lord of Casterly Rock had fallen away to show a young man burdened by the legacy of Kings and fools._

" _How could you love him?" is her daughter's reply._

" _He is a great man."_

 _And he was. But it had always, always been more than that. He had_ _ **chosen**_ _Joanna. A great man would have found a better match then a distant cousin from a minor branch of his own house. Should have done so. She remembered urging him to not be the fool, something he had never suffered well, and his stubborn refusal of her rejection:_

" _ **Choose more wisely my lord, for your bride. I am not enough to be the next Lady of the West, thought heartened as I am by your offer. You know your duty is to marry well, bring in influence from another Great House-" she pleaded, even as her heart is beating so fast that it felt as if Joanna could not breathe.**_

 _ **Years, of Tywin, looking her way, speaking to her, and she had expected his flirtations, his attention to stop. To stop once he realized she would not lose her maiden-head to anyone but her Lord-Husband, and that he would have to sait his lust with anyone but her. She had taken his courtship, swearing to herself that she would harden her heart to her Casterly Rock cousin, but... Oh, she had failed. Princess Meria had been correct in telling her that she was in great danger of losing herself to Tywin.**_

 _ **It was why she had to let him go. It was why she refused him. She knew him. Knew what he wanted- esteem, praise- and he would not achieve it marrying her.**_

" _ **What greater House is there other than my own?" he said back to her, a flush on his handsome face.**_

 _ **Joanna's heart wavered, bloomed in the wake of his dark eyes staring at her so intensely.**_

" _ **Your father would never allow it," she countered.**_

 _ **Tywin openly scoffed.**_

" _ **My father is a fool that only cares for his whore and his wine."**_

" _ **I cannot marry you."**_

 _ **Tywin stared for a moment, his jaw working furiously. Boldly, more boldly than he has ever dared before, he came to sit next to her, eyes intent as he gripped her hand in his. His hand was frightfully large in comparison to her's, but when he held her hand it was so delicately, so softly that it warmed Joanna, who knew how strong he was.**_

" _ **Cannot or will not?" he asked, and now his voice is softer, as he looked at her with those great emerald eyes solely looking at her.**_

" _ **What?"**_

" _ **I am not worthy of you, Lady Joanna?" he asked, voice still soft.**_

 _ **Joanna felt her heart constrict.** When did I start loving you?_

" _ **Of course! I am not worthy of you-"**_

 _ **He smiled. The Great Heir of Casterly Rock smiled as brilliantly and as handsomely as the Warrior and reached for her other hand, gripped them both in his as if she was the Maiden herself come to him.**_

" _ **I deem you to be. I deem you to be more than worthy. Marry me, Joanna. Marry me."**_

 _ **Heart in her throat, Joanna could not help the helpless, breathless "Yes."**_

 _Her daughter let out a scoff._

" _That does not make him a_ _ **good**_ _one."_

 _Joanna hummed. Her daughter was a wise soul. But she was new to this world and needed to see the merit of family, especially her father._

" _Perhaps not. But that is not for you to decide just now, sweetling. Perhaps it would be wise to learn him yourself."_

 _Areli sighed._

" _I know of no way of judging the future but by the past."_

" _Words, by no doubt someone very wise," said Joanna, raising a brow, "But you do not know the past."_

 _Areli laughed. It is a musical sound. Joanna laughed with her._

" _I suppose I don't."_

" _Then be patient, my little lioness. Be patient and learn. And remember-"_

" _I am right where I'm supposed to be."_

 _Joanna smiled._

* * *

 **EDIT: 16 December 2019**


	9. Jaime II & Areli V

_Jaime II & Areli V_

Cersei was frowning.

It was a face that Jaime knew was what Cersei simply did by default. Her face settled into a frown when she was bored, when she was displeased when she was mad and most other emotions. It had become more and more regular when their Mother died. Jaime tried his best, really, to take that face away. He tried his best to make her _happier,_ take away that frown she wore so badly. Because no matter how often she wore a frown, to Jaime it looked bad on her pretty face. It looked the best when she smiled when she laughed when she was _happy._

So he switched lessons with her, making sure to pick the days he had sword practice, every once and a while because she wanted to learn as well until Mother had forbade it. Made sure to pass her favorite tarts when they broke their fast, made sure to play dolls, Princess and Knights, with her even if he rather play Lion on the Savannah, even if he rather sneak away to play down in the kennels with some of the servant boys. He was proud that it was him that got her to smile, that it was him that got her to laugh. It wasn't often, it wasn't as much as he'd like, but _Jaime_ was the one that made Cersei stop being sad, if only for a moment.

But now, at that moment, his eldest sister, his beloved twin, was decidedly _not_ smiling.

She was frowning, instead. A great big frown that was directed to the guard standing in front of them, her small arms crossed. It pulled at her pretty face, made her large emerald eyes, look larger. If it had been directed at Jaime, Jaime would have let Cersei pass. Let her pass the second her face had shifted from quiet demand to visible upfront, to being visibly offended. It was easier really, to let Cersei have her way in certain things. She was stubborn to a fault, his twin, and would be rather mean when she didn't get what she wanted. And at that moment, she wasn't getting what she wanted.

But the Guard was having none of it.

"Lord Lannister was not to be disturbed, my Lady," said the guard, sternly. He said it in such a way that few people dared to talk to his eldest sister, firm, repriming to the little Lady of the Casterly Rock, "He and Lord Kevan are preparing for the arrival of the Princess of Dorne-"

Septa Dianne gives a pleasant smile, gripping Cersei's shoulder with a gnarled hand, curled over the delicate curve of her shoulder. His eldest sister tried to shove it off, but the Septa paid her no mind. She only held tighter and her other hand came to hold the other shoulder. Jaime saw how the slightly yellow nails dug into the red velvet of her gown, pressing against the small rubies that ran along the bodice and sleeves, stark against the gold thread of their mother's fine embroidery.

"And we understand that well, Sir, but Lady Cersei is in need to see her father. She is most insistent."

"Be it that Septa, my instructions are firm. I am only to let the Lady Frey pass, and that is only if she brings an emergency that is pressing. Lady Cersei wishing to see her father is not urgent, nor an emergency."

The Septa Dianne gave a sigh, before she nodded her head, carefully.

"Very well. Thank you for your explanation. Come along Lady Cersei, Lord Jaime-"

"She's in there! She's _always_ there!" cried Cersei, tears coming to her beautiful green eyes. At that sight, most servants would have been scared out of their wits, for Cersei's tantrums were legendary in breaking expensive objects, and would have stepped aside, but this man only frowned, as the tears fell down like crystals, winking in the morning light, "She's in with father, the little monster that killed mother!"

Jaime frowned then, tears coming to his own eyes in frustration. Because this has been a fight that has lasted for _moons._

"She didn't kill Mother!"

He was sick of her repeating that every time he tried to get her to visit their younger sister and brother.

"The monster did! And now she's with father, unlike the imp down in the Nursery- She could kill him next!"

"Don't call her a monster or him an imp!"

"Don't defend them, they killed mother!"

Jaime felt his stomach twist, heart pounding at the ugly, hard look on his pretty sister's face.

"Don't say that! We're the older siblings we are supposed to protect them and defend them-"

"Those _things_ are not my siblings!"

"Enough," came the voice of the Septa, voice sharp, "Lord Jaime, you must return to your lessons, Lady Cersei, we shall do the same."

"I'm not leaving until I see father!" came the cry, and with that, shaking off the Septa's hands with a loud slap, Cersei dropped to the floor.

Her large, red skirt flared out around her, she set her jaw and cried pretty tears, crossing her arms. She was shaking her head, rapidly in her evident displeasure. Her face was red and her teeth were bared, like a lioness, her blond curls bouncing at every firm shake of her head. Not looking away from the guard who shifted uneasily as the small girl glared at him. But he did not move, only looked uncomfortable at the display that his sister was making.

The Septa who was frowning at her charge, looked over to guard again, her jaw setting.

"Ser," intoned the old woman, calmly, "Forgive me for such a display."

Then without so much as a nod from the guard, the old Septa reached down and picked Cersei up by the armpits, who started to howl the second she left the ground. The Septa only threw the girl over her shoulder. Nervously, Jaime followed behind them both, intent on returning to the Maester for his own lessons.

Through it all, the door that leads to their father's solar, did not move, did not even creak open from the noise being made from his screaming, protesting sister.

 **OOOOOOOOOO**

Areli thinks, that quite on accident, she has broken Tywin Lannister.

For a man that was said to have neglected his children, he spent an awful lot of time with his youngest girl, and Areli was positive that was not normal behavior from the Lannister Patriarch. For all she knew of him, which she had admitted was not much in light of watching a television show, she knew that this was not typical at all. She has noticed this, because every day, for the next two weeks after her dream of Joanna asking her to be kinder to him, without fail, this man, came into the joint Nursery, lifted her with infinite gentleness that was at odds in his cool expression, and placed her securely into the portable cradle.

Pointedly, he does not even spare a glance to poor little Tyrion.

This always distressed her, and she always reached for her biological twin, a silent plea but of course, he ignored her. He, instead, he made a careful production of tucking her in, movements stern, mechanical, but through in placing her body into the very plush bedding, of keeping her warm and secure. Of just so placing a fine, infinitely warm wool, then a cooler silk blanket across her small body. It is a stern motion because he does not do that thing that parents do. That small opportunity to dote upon their small child. He does not coo at her, does not grasp at her small limbs, her small hands, and feet with quiet adoration. Does not make faces in an attempt at play or to make her laugh, as she had seen many parents do as Ana.

But he does take her with him, does take her to what she suspects is his office, does place her to his right, within view, and in front of him. Never out of his line of sight. Despite the fact that he ignored her, intent on what seems to be mountains - _god does she emphasis at the sheer amount of paper he seems to go through-_ of paperwork or correspondence that is necessary for the man of the house- or well, the man of the castle. All-day, vaguely bored and tired as was the norm for a baby, she slept, she played with her hands or with the pillows of her cradle, or with the small dangling objects( _Soft cut crystal, and rubies_ ) are above her that is built into the cradle. She hums and sings to herself in wordless song, strengthening her vocal cords best she can.

She has nothing much to do, that much hasn't changed since the Great Lord of Casterly Rock had decided to obsessively bring his youngest biological child with him everywhere. He does not pay her much attention, despite carting her back and forth with him. He does not frequently look up in her direction, does not even seem to keep her in mind, behind a few looks here and there. Then only time he seemed to pay her any attention was when he fed her, _by his own hand,_ as in past few weeks she had been forcibly weaned by his command. Her main meals now were some sort of a paste with what she thinks is mostly mixed milk and oats, and boiled fruits or vegetables mashed to make them soft.

He never lets anyone touch her as soon as the wet-nurse was no longer needed for her, even to her eternal shame, changing her from when she soils herself, the careful baths in a small bucket he had brought into his office, always just the right type of warm. He does not shower her with affection or praise, hardly says a word, but the fact that he is insistent on having her with him, does so much of the personal child-care, makes her _know._

She knew it's odd, knew it was wrong because of something she did in particular, rather instead of her misunderstanding the character she remembers from the television show.

She knew that it was _wrong._

That this is not what Tywin should be doing. Not for weeks. Not even for a single day. She knew that as much as she knew that the fourth Lannister child is non-existent. _Not real,_ a part of her stubbornly whispers, _just all_ _ **fake.**_ She knew it as sure as she is by the fact that this is a gesture that is only paid to her, felt it in the glaring absence of her twin beside her. In the large, Tyrion shaped space that the large crib meant for two had beside her. In the fact that since his attention to her, she has not heard a word nor seen the two elder Lannister children. But he has made it a daily ritual, a daily occurrence to take his youngest biological child everywhere with him.

The only thing she can conclude that she has accidentally broken him.

She touched something in this frightful, _terrifying_ man, and seems to have attention from him because of it.

 _What do you need from me? What do you_ _ **want**_ _? Is Moth-_ _ **Joanna**_ _right in the sense that I need to learn who you are?_ _That you are much more human than I want to acknowledge? Aren't you a monster?_

"With all that has happened, perhaps we can persuade the Princess to pay her visit in a year's time," said her biological Uncle, Kevan, says, voice gruff, running a hand through his thick, flowing curls. His eyes are red, but focused, on the paper in front of him, ink stains across his tan skin, "The Keep is ready, and Genna has stepped up into the role of the Lady, but-"

Her biological father, almost, but not quite, rolled his eyes. It as if he wished too, but all he does is sets his jaw. A compromise.

"We will show strength, Kevan, that is what we planned. The Princess is set to arrive within the day. Do you intended to send her back from the harbor?" his voice is careful distaste, and he does not look up from the parchment in front of him.

"With Joanna-"

"Do not," he said, calm, and icy, "Do not imply that I am incapable of running a diplomatic visit. Joanna would not have wanted any pause in our plans, and neither do I. I have done my mourning of so many moons. We cannot push this back any longer, and the King is impatient to have me return to King's Landing, at most we have three moons before I have to leave, and I know not when I will be able to return. If you feel comfortable enough, the Princess and her two younger children can return within a year to Dorne. Perhaps I can see them depart myself if the King allows me."

"Bugger the King! Step down from being the Hand. Casterly Rock needs you," the man gives his brother a fierce look, throwing his parchment down with a slam of his hand across the desk, it is such a loud noise that it startled her, making her remove the gem in her hand, and lean forward to look a the older men, "You have four young children that are not suitable for the court, that need a parent. They need you, Tywin."

"Are you a fool? Are you not enough to be my Steward? Has the Rock been too much responsibility? What would you have me do, leave it in the hands of Gerion or Tygett or perhaps some lesser cousin that is even less competent?! The Houses of Westeros will laugh if I resign as the Hand, they will think us too weak in the absence of my wife, and I for one will not belittle her memory for the sake of what you think is my comfort."

"You are running yourself ragged, trying to hold the realm together, the call you the Uncrowned King! But here in the West Joanna did so much-"

"Do not say it to me as if I do not know all she did. I am well aware of her absence, _Kevan._ "

"Apparently not enough! What in the Seven Hells are you trying to prove-"

"I am your Lord, if I am to remind you, Kevan, you are to speak to me with respect. You have the Rock to attended to, my esteem of your competency extends that far, but that does not mean you are to dictate _my_ actions."

"I will if you act in such a manner that neglect your health. You look horrible!"

Tywin, in Areli's opinion, did look a touch thin, thinner than when she had first seen him, and he had the constant air of… _Exhaustion._ He hid it with his cool demeanor, with his precise behavior, but apparently, he could not fool his brother.

"I am in perfect health."

"For how long? You have _four_ children Tywin, do not make them orphans after they just lost their mother."

The argument is out of nowhere, alarming to Areli as she shifted forward, wiggling out of her blankets. She is leaning out of the crib at this point, hypnotized as the younger man stood, screaming at the older man as he dismisses his concern. Turning back to the paperwork. When the younger man snatched it out of his hands, physically, there is a shift in the Lord of Casterly Rock. He stood as well, demanding the return of the papers. When he does not get the papers back, there is another shift, and for a second, Areli is sure she is about to be witness to a fist-fight.

It is when she placed her palms on the desk and upsets the inkwell that the arguing stops. She scrambled, huffing as she watched the blood red ink spill closer to what she knew where important papers. She lifted the inkwell, holding it tightly between her hands, setting it upright. She then took the papers out the way of the running ink, carefully dragging herself out of the crib, and her fine white little nightgown, through the red ink in her haste. She crawled carefully with her it in her hands, and managed, with the force of her sheer will, to sit up, kneeling on the desk and the spilled ink, papers above her head.

"What did she protect from the ink?" and that's Kevan, voice astonished.

 _Fuck. Way to act like a baby,_ _ **Areli.**_

"Those are the letters from King's Landing," said Tywin, voice, considerably quieter than normal.

She looked at him, more than a little unsettled on how he stared back at her, this focused look of complete concentration. She had his attention, she knew it, has known it since he had begun there daily ritual of bringing her to his office. She debated it for a moment, to try and act a little more childishly, throw a paper or two around, but knew that what she is holding is important, and in her actions, at least, she has stopped the argument. Despite how entertaining it had been, any form of conflict has always unsettled her.

She held out the papers to Tywin, just to get him to do something other than stare at her.

It does not work. He just continued to look at her, until her small arms tire. She brought the papers closer to herself, careful to avoid touching them to her ink-stained dress.

"Tywin?"

The man visibly sagged, a forceful sigh escaping him.

"You usually have more care for your clothing," he said, with a slight note of disapproval in his voice.

She doesn't respond verbally, only extended the papers again. With a gentleness that was at odds with his frowning face, Tywin took the papers into his hand. He set them aside, away from the puddle, and on his spacious desk, before he looked back at her.

"You will need to be changed… Perhaps bathed to remove the stain from your skin. With your skin, it will be vivid, no doubt."

She looked down, embarrassed despite herself. The red ink is flowing up the delicate cotton, and she is vaguely reminded of a patient that had come in one afternoon, her white summer dress stained with her blood, a boating accident of the poor girl falling off of the small yacht and against some rocks near the shore. She shivered in the cool air, shaking her head rapidly at the memory, before she looked at the man who had made her, however unintentionally.

"Kevan, tell the guard to send for a servant to clean up this mess, fetch a bath, and some clean clothes for her."

The other man does just that, before he turned back to them, watching as Tywin carefully lifts her away from the ink, the rich, earthy smell clinging to her as ink dripped onto the table. Her feet stay on the table as he supported her, watching with those emerald eyes as the red ink falls onto the desk. Tywin tsked, and reached into the folds of his strange shirt, pulling out a large handkerchief, embroidered lovingly with a magnificent, roaring lion, before he proceeded to dry her legs with his spare hand. When she is no longer dripping, he removed the dress itself, undoing the soft laces from the back and letting it fall to the desk. She is in nothing but what she suspected is the medieval equivalent of a diaper, it too soaked with the ink. He removed it and cleaned her up again, gentle movements, frowning all the while. She shivered in the drafty room, but the man is already bringing her closer, into his chest.

The weird shirt is made of fine velvet, a soft texture beneath her hands as she clung to the material. It is warmer, and he held her close before he grabbed one of her wool blankets, swaddling her in gold. He does this without saying a word, and Areli can only hum in response, a small thank you for his care, even if the actions from this man confuse and distress her.

"Why show so much care for this child?" asked Kevan, and Areli is cheered by the fact, that even though he is across the room, she can more or less see clearly as his brows pressed together in his confusion.

"She is mine, is she not?" that is the retort, calm, without inflection.

"So is Tyrion."

Gentle arms around her tighten. Almost, but not quite painfully.

"He… He is deformed. But… Areli is not."

Kevan scoffed.

"Look at her skin."

The hold on her is even tighter, and she barely suppressed the whimper.

"It will darken with age."

"Your behavior regarding the child is distressing."

A low rumble, something a growl comes from Tywin.

"Oh? First, you claim me to be neglecting the Rock as I run the Seven Kingdoms, now you claim my attention to my child to be distressing?"

Kevan frowned.

"Yes. You carry her everywhere."

"Do not question-"

"Tywin, for the Seven's Sake-"

"Leave. You are obviously agitated from the time spent in the room. Come back when you have cooled your head."

"But-"

"That was a command from your Lord, Kevan."

The other man hesitated before he gives a formal, stiff bow.

"Of course, Lord Tywin."

He left with a strange expression on his face. That left her alone with Tywin, clinging to his velvet shirt.

"You are a comfort."

The confession is in the air, heavy and simple.

But to Areli it is an ominous proclamation.

* * *

 **EDIT: 16 December 2019**


	10. Tywin II & Joanna II

_Tywin II & Joanna II_

The dress is all sorts of ridiculous for a baby that is less than a year old, he knew it, the second he placed it upon the child.

She gave him a truly unimpressed look, a frown on her pale, plump lips, and an all-together stern look that was emphasized by her pale brows forced together. _Has my gaze indeed. How you would have laughed at such a look, Joanna._ It was as if she agreed with him, and all that was missing was for the infant to cross her arms. But she restrained herself, careful of the bell, voluminous structure of the sleeves. She was incredibly careful, not moving in a fuss with the material, almost immobile, as if she too, knew the importance of her clothing. _Or perhaps she knows my mood to not make a mess of it._

Her green eyes, did, however, follow him, as he went about arranging the gown. It was as if his daughter too, knew how ridiculous such ornamentation was and was displeased with it as a result. Areli, sitting as she is upon his desk, just a few feet away from the stain she had made the night before, looked highly uncomfortable, and altogether dissatisfied. She is remarkably expressive, for such a young child, managing to look annoyed even around the copious roundness of her face.

She does not cry, as he had seen Jaime or Cersei do at that age, does not fuss or tug at the material. She just looked displeased, leaning against the cushion as he arranged the fabric of the dress that had once belonged to Joanna, and then Cersei, as infants. He had scoffed at such sentimentality on Joanna's part, having told her that any gown she had wanted made for their children was more appropriate. Something newer. Something more fashionable than a dress two decades out of date. She had laughed at him. Laughed at it him in a way no other person could get away with, a mirthful thing that was as lovely as a song and with no malice:

" _It's not about it being frugal, my Lord," she said with that smile of hers, it was bright and beautiful, but there was something else there. A kindness that in others he saw as weakness, but in her, he had never seen it as so, "It's about giving something to my child that had been mine. There's a difference, I believe. You are to give Jaime your sword, or your grand legacy of the Lord of the Rock- My legacy to Cersei will be to give her my dresses, made by my hand or by my mother's. Not quite as grand, I give you, but what else is a Lady to give?"_

" _Ridiculous. If you were any other woman, I would suspect this a ploy to ask for a larger budget for cloth or lace," he told her, raising a brow._

 _Joanna smiled again, smiled as she always did, something soft and expressive. But there was a sort of tilt to her full lips, a brightness in her green eyes. A mischief._

" _Oh? If I were any other woman, I believe I would be insulted on the part of my sex."_

" _Suffice, it is, my Lady that you are not any other woman."_

" _You flatter me, my Lord."_

" _I do not such thing. I find my patience for such things to be all but none. I only tell the truth."_

 _Joanna laughed. Musical and full, her cheeks flushing the softest pink across her golden skin…_

He is pulled from his memories, not on his own volition, but rather instead by his daughter's gentle tug on the fur cuff of his doublet. He blinked, looked down at his daughter, in her finery looking up at him with a furrowed brow. As if she read his mind, she dropped her hand from his cuff, but not after soothing the fur to prevent creasing. Looking curious at the material for a moment, small fingertips caressing the golden fur before she dropped her hand to his hand. Then she went to squeezed his smallest finger. Her hand was warm, and he was surprised by her strength he sensed in her tiny hand. It was strange to see such strength in such a delicate, fragile thing. She looked up at him, with her light eyes, just like her mother's, and smiled.

For the first time in many moons, what felt like a _decade_ , Tywin felt a small smile on his face.

Green eyes blinked. Her hand lingered on the digit for but a moment, before she dropped it once again to her side, almost primly, settling her hands on the silk of her dress. It is _a fine_ dress, one he admired more without Joanna, sees its merit much clearer, much to his dislike. _If I could but tell her I understand now as I didn't then._ He carefully smoothed down the impossibly thin golden lace and the red velvet threaded with rubies and garnets, alongside careful embroidery of several fine, roaring, golden lions along the golden dyed fur hem, done by his good-mother so many years ago, retouched by his wife's own hand but a few moons ago, in case their latest child was female. _A lady's legacy… Hear me Roar, is that not right Joanna?_

She looked, like some strange doll, stuffed into the fine dress, so wide, with wool petticoats that made her look like a fine cushion. Tywin gave her a raised brow, pressing down her pale, starlight ringlet curls, careful of arranging her hair back and away from her face. He dare not attempt to braid it, as he had much more practice undoing the more complex braids his wife had favored. _How I admired the gold of your hair, Joanna, how I would run it through my fingers and think it the finest spun silk in all existence._ He added the matching ribbon, made of the same velvet, golden lace and fur as her dress over her head, tying the ribbon tightly behind her curls, already reaching past her tiny shoulders.

Despite his dislike of the pale color, _tongues will fly, I have no distrust of you, wife. I would_ _ **never**_ _believe you to be such a fool. Does Tygett not have such pale curls as well, with a few darker strands?_ He found he could not dare cut the curls and would let them grow to a respectable length. Perhaps to her waist- longer if the child would support it. Joanna had set a fashion in the Royal Court by having it nearly to her knees, always elaborately made in handsome braids that many tried to imitate to a lesser degree. Cersei could not support having such long hair, to Joanna's despair, and frequently had it trimmed to a neat length to her shoulders. He hoped that his younger daughter would emulate her mother. He found his hands lingering in her hair, and the babe took his ridiculousness with ease, simply staring at him.

"You do well to comport yourself," he told her seriously before he let his hand drop, smoothing down the last strand of flyaway hair.

Now, he cannot help but admired the effect her daughter's look would have on anyone who saw her, and despite the paleness of her skin, she manages to look quite well and an attractive little thing in her Winter finery.

The young girl stared at him, still frowning before she placed her hand gently on the ribbon band in her hair. A question, he is sure, for him to take it off. With her expression, he knew that it is what especially bothered her. Tywin doesn't quite tsk at her, but he does make a clicking sound with his tongue to the general air, then he placed one hand on her smaller one, dragging it away from her hair to place it firmly by her side. A silent command that she followed with a slight huff, but no other protest. Her hands settling calmly at her side, making no more motion to undo the ribbon. _Intelligent._ He cupped her cheek, with a most careful hand. Checking for any remaining stains of the red ink(it had taken several baths to remove it from her skin), moving her head back and forth. He nodded, satisfied.

He, like her, is dressed in his best, velvet doublet, lined with fur for the chilly Winter air, red of course, with a little more… Flamboyancy than his typical everyday wear, his facial hair and his hair recently trimmed and shaved. He picked her up, settled her in the crook of his arm, and knew, a few floors below him, the same is being down for his three other children, rounded up by Genna who had volunteered for his children, and would proceed to round up an unruly Gerion. Tygett was already downstairs, there to oversee the preparation for the Harbor and docks, the tent to protect the table of salt and bread for the arrival of the Dornish ship that carried the Princess and her party.

"Pageantry," muttered the Lannister Lord, carefully, of the babe as he adjusted his more ornamental sword on his hip, a large, glidden golden lion's head on its pommel, with garnets for eyes, and with diamonds for its fangs, "A necessary function of wealth. Ridiculous, but we are nothing but prosperous. Our words, _Hear me Roar,_ tell us how we must show the world who we are, Areli. Distasteful, some would say. Wasteful others will say. But we will be spoken about, be seen with awe, envy, and rightful respect regardless."

He felt all sorts of ridiculous, speaking to her. Or, perhaps, he should _feel_ all sorts of ridiculous. She is barely old enough to sit up by her own accord. But. There is something. Something to saying things to such young a child, to the air around her. She reacted to each word, leaned against him, pressed her small palms and fingertips into his hands, into his velvet coat at the sound of his voice. She appeared to _like_ his voice, always pressing herself into him if he is within reach, small fingertips curling around fingers and fists, around velvet and silk shirts. She liked it. And while she may not comprehend him, she will, and the words will mean more and more to her as she grew.

He himself… _Appreciated_ her voice, however rare it is at this point. She mostly hummed, this babe, hummed her moods in soft warbles that caused shivers to go down his spine. Little chirps of melody, soft and strange, compositions complex and unfamiliar. Her singing is what had him bringing her to his Solar in the first place. On occasion, her voice would ring something familiar, _the_ song, one he suspected was sung by Jaime in his escapes to see her and the other child, but it was ever rare an occasion. It was her mannerism, that compelled him to make it a ritual. The way she reacted to him, the way she seemed to reach for him. _A comfort, indeed._ He could not explain it if he ever were to bother with such idiocy. He explained himself to no one. He had no need, not to anyone but himself.

"I have no care for it myself," he told her, truthfully. He found it a bore, thought it ridiculous despite the necessity.

The girl hummed as if in agreement, her hand trailed across the embroidered lions on the hem of her dress. She looked up at him, eyes on his face. He looked toward her. Gave her a raised brow.

"But I know its value. It's purpose. Frivolous as it may seem. We are wealth. We are power. We are not just highly ornamental. We are Lannisters. We stand in gold and crimson, in riches of the earth. We are proud and no one's jest."

Her hands tighten on his shirt, no doubt sensing the shift in his voice. The darkening in tone at the brief remembrance of the mockery of the dunce of his father had made of them. He could almost smile again in that moment. Almost, because he remembered his wife, remembered how she would not demand he 'lighten up', nor that he be content with the recognition he had forcefully brought to their fallen House the second the fool stopped breathing. But instead had always touched his arm in quiet acceptance, and perhaps given it a squeeze if his mood turned too ill.

"We are what we are Areli."

The girl hummed again, just a touch of a softer sound.

He walked the rest of the way out of the Rock in silence, allowing himself to bounce the humming child as he made his way. _No one was there to see._ He opted to take the outer road to the Harbor, rather than the internal stairs and ramps tunnels below the Keep proper, as there was no doubt there was to be less foot traffic in the open air. Areli proved her gentle temperament again by hardly reacting to the sway of the horse as they made their way to the bottom of the cliffs, to the harbor proper. Even the grand height of a two-thousand and a hundred feet, and the winding slope carved into the rock about as large as one wheel cart wide, barely got a reaction from the babe. She only learned forward curiously, but not alarmingly out of his arms, toward the great vestige of the Sunset Sea in the early morning hours. For the first time, Tywin realized, the girl was seeing the sun and the sea, the first time beneath the sky without the roof of the Rock above her.

If he had been a more sentimental man, he would have remarked upon out loud, and despite the fact that he liked to speak to the child who didn't truly understand him-

He wasn't sentimental.

 _At least I didn't used to be. Joanna, I suppose your… Absence has left me wanting._

"That is the Sunset Sea."

Areli gave a cheerful gurgle, leaning forward once again. He held her carefully in front of him, making her lean back to press into his lap and chest.

"People say that our mines are our most prosperous aspect- Those people are fools. The mines provide us with gold, of course, but it is the sea and our trade that _truly_ allow us to prosper. From the Lion's Harbor to Lannisport, the Westerlands is a trading hub that is only rivaled by King's Landing."

The carved road was all but empty, as he calmly explained the intricacy of the sea trade and inner trade in his lands. The only sounds for the hour-long ride is his voice, the gentle hums of his daughter, the sounds of the horse's breath, the breeze of cool air against their skin, and the faint roar of the sea below. He kept the gentlest pace to the opening of the Lion's Harbor. It was, sometimes referred to, infuriatingly as the Lion's Ass ( _though no one dared in his presence_ ), just as the grand frontal gate that was the only access to the bridge connecting the Rock to the mainland, was called the Lion's Maw.

The Lion's Harbor was at the base of the cliff island that housed Casterly Rock, only accessible through the Keep, by the inner tunnels or the widening road, or from the sea. It was an enormous cavern beneath the Rock nearly four-hundred foot high at the highest point and nearly two leagues deep, both natural and half-carved by the holders of the Rock through the centuries. The entrance of it was a nearly clear view of the horizon, wide enough for six larger ships to pass through side by side.

Like teeth, enormous iron gates could be lowered in an event of a siege, and Tywin had only seen it done such during the War of Ninepenny Kings, as he increasingly heard it called. _Has it already been six years since its end?_ He remembered how his father had foolishly increased foot traffic during the War, and nearly shut down the sea trade to the Rock proper. It had been a miracle the Rock had not been infiltrated in his incompetence or caused them all to starve. It served as a shipyard to his most impressive ships, about twenty in number, with the other forty stationed in Lannisport. It was lit by so many torches and brazen fire pits, as well as the large entrance that hardly any darkness showed in the half-natural cave.

Joanna herself had the tent commissioned to await any delegation that came to their gates or harbor, an enormous thing of the crimson dyed canvas, their sigil and words painted meticulously in the golden dye, emphasized by grand embroidery that was threaded with gold thread. It was as tall as three men, as wide as the arm span of twenty. It was cavernous, stark against the pale gold of the natural rock that Casterly Rock had been built upon. It was made to be a fine sight against the Rock or the Lion's Harbor's walls, to impress and demonstrate the wealth of them. Tywin had approved of the design, had given his wife that rare smile as she demonstrated her rough sketch. He had even allowed her to commission the furniture that was always adorned the tent.

Chairs, more thrones then anything, with the seat of the lord being the largest and in the center, as was his right. The table was wide and long, fitting from one end of the tent to the other in a seamless appearance, a deep red-hued wood he had imported from Essos. He noted, that the portable crib that he had left in the nursery had been set on the table amongst platters of fine dried meats, fresh fruits, cheese, wine, and bread. It was empty, save for blankets and what looked like a soft cloth toy that Tywin knew he had not placed there.

"Good morning, my Lord," called Tygett, voice calm. He gave a brief if strained smile.

"Ser Tygett," he replied. He did not bother with a smile. He was always formal to this brother as if there was any among them that had been found of their father, it was him.

Perhaps it was because he was not wise enough to understand what a fool he had been. The dismissal of the Whore had upset the boy, who had seen her as a mother figure. He did not think that Tygett had ever forgiven him, and his prominent position as Hand of the King left him with little interaction with his second-youngest brother. The younger man, barely a man of six and ten years looked at him with the gaze of not contempt- Tywin would have beat that out of him if he dared- but a strong dislike that Tywin doubted would ever dispel. He did not care one way or another, as long as he gave him respect and obeyed him. He wore armor- something that was some attempt to differ himself from the rest of his brothers, no doubt- a plain thing that was barely gilded with gold set in swirls, with no jewels and polished to a modest sheen, his cloak a cotton instead of a velvet, not lined with dyed fur, but instead a simple black.

He had bought all of his own armor, no doubt, with whatever money he could muster from Tourneys and the like.

Tywin frowned.

"Dress yourself more appropriately. If you insist on armor, there is the set I commissioned for you in the armory with a better cloak. Have your squire help you dress."

He watched a muscle work out against his square jaw.

"I thought the amour I wore regularly would suffice."

"It does not."

He watched those blue eyes that he remembers belonging to their mother, flicker to the babe in his arms.

"Alright, I'll go change, my Lord," Tygett voice was polite, if a tad resigned, "But I wished to inform you that all preparations are complete here at the Harbor. In accordance with the raven, the Princess should arrive sometime around midday, if the weather will hold. It looks like it has… The cradle is there, for the child if you wish to unburden-"

"Go dress," he said, voice hard.

Tygrett frowned, but gave him a polite bow, and made his leave. Tywin settled himself on the central chair, ignoring the crib to drape his daughter across his chest. He did take the time to remove a wool blanket and settle it around the child. He would remove it and demand the crib to be taken from the table the second he saw the Dornish ships. _And they call the Lannisters overly demonstrative when Princess Meria decided to take the long route to the Rock by sea, with a small_ _ **fleet**_ _of ten ships to carry her entire party and whatever gifts she thinks appropriate to give amongst the Houses along the coast._ He signaled for some mild, warmed mead and sipped it leisurely as he waited for the rest of the core family members to appear. Areli fell asleep after he fed her a few sips of oatmeal, a soft, warm sensation of her heavy breaths against the crook of his neck.

Kevan, like many times, was the first to appear, his new wife, Dorna Swift, at his side. She was nervous. Constantly nervous in his presence, due no doubt to her captivity after his father's death. He found it tedious to deal with her, as it may have been by his command, but it was her lord husband who had been her jailer, and she seemed to like him enough to ask her father to wed her to him. She dipped into a deep and respectful curtsy but said not a word before following her husband to sit at his right side. Tywin felt his jaw clench at the sight of his brother but gave him a sharp nod of greeting.

"Good morning."

Tywin did not bother to respond, in no mood to observe niceties. He heard Kevan sigh, but Tywin did not acknowledge the sound by even glancing in his direction.

"I overstepped last night, my Lord."

Again, Tywin did not respond.

"I ask for your forgiveness for my behavior."

At that, Tywin had to respond.

"I care not to give it to you. Just never presume to demand such a thing of me again."

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as his brother closed his eyes and heaved another apologetic sigh.

"Of course, my lord," Then a curious expression crossed his face, "Why was Tygett stomping his way up the ramps to the armory?"

Tywin almost smiled. Had he and Kevan not fought so the night before, he would have at least given the man a smirk.

"He is ill-dressed to receive the Princess," he replied, dryly, voice cool.

Kevan did smile, while Dorna gave a soft and high giggle that was grating.

"I see. A habit of our brother, I see."

"Of both of them. If I recall, Gerion was once determined to meet the King in nothing but his small clothes," said Genna, loudly, holding a bundle of blankets that was no doubt the Imp.

"I was four namedays!" said Gerion, hotly, crossing his arms. The boy of one and ten was just starting his progression into manhood, seemingly growing two feet since Tywin had seen him last.

His elder twins, holding hands and near identical if not for Cersei's large skirt, giggled behind his youngest brother. They took their seats and begin what is sure to be a somewhat long wait for the Dornish to arrive. The day is spent pleasantly if tediously in the tent, with small refreshments provided and easy conversation after the initial tension, music gentle and provided by a small band that was typical to them.

The general good mood, so little enjoyed for Tywin with Joanna gone, is broken entirely when Areli gave a startled shriek.

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Joanna realized within seconds of her vague wish of wanting to follow her youngest from her brief dream, that she is not bound by the shared realm that had become her mind.

She realized it because she is, without real form or logical pull, she is quite suddenly in front of Areli in the waking world, so close she could reach out to touch her as she does within the dream realm. _Dreams are but a different realm, the world of the living seems to be no different._ She stared, perplexed and something akin to panic within her at the sight of the people she had left behind. Tywin sat upon a chair, as if it is a throne, proud, gallant man, _so thin,_ but flawlessly dressed, holding their youngest babe in his arms. Kevan held her second-born son in his arms, he too dressed in an altered frock that had once belonged to Jaime, golden to Areli's prominent crimson, on Tywin's right. _My place._ Cersei resplendent in gold is moving in her seat and is constantly and restlessly looking toward Tywin, eyes narrowed and on the bundle of velvet and lace that is her sister. Jaime is simply bouncing up and down in his red velvet, eyes on the horizon.

She also realized as no one reacts, that they cannot see her.

Or.

Well.

 _They_ cannot see her. Their eyes are still on the horizon, or on whoever they are speaking with. They look past her, not even flinching at the sudden appearance of a dead woman in front of them. But Areli can. She goes stock still in Tywin's arms, green eyes going frightfully large. She shrieks. A distressed warble that even makes her husband jump, looking down to the babe in his arms with a look of surprise.

" _Shhh. Sweetling, I am just as surprised as you are._ "

Areli cannot speak back to her, not outside of her dreams where the realm is so vividly attuned to what her spirit is. Not without giving the people around her an indication of her intelligence and unnatural sentience. _Cautious, wise girl. Tywin would be alarmed. He is not one for fantasy or magic._ Areli can only stare at her, and even in her semi-mute state, even in her infant face, Joanna can see her genuine fright her. _My babe, so frightened of me. But only for the reasons I know to be_ _ **reasonable**_ **,** _no matter how much it hurts me. I am the one to coax her into forgoing the life she had before she quickened within my womb._

 _Shh, little Strangerling, shhh sweet girl that came to me._

" _I wished to see you, little lioness,"_ she gave her voice as a prim, warm thing, thinly disguising the fact that she has no need to explain herself, even to her daughter. She tries to ignore her voice, not what it was in life, but even to her instead but a whisper on the winds blowing into the Lion's Harbor, " _And I found in the process that we are more closely bound that I could predict. It appears that realms of your dreams are not the only place I can find you in._ "

Areli cannot answer, and for that Joanna uses to her advantage. She extends her hands, only pauses for a moment at their transparency, before she presses them to both Areli's cheeks. Her little cub's eyes narrow, but she does not make another cry of distress. Tywin, _oh how thin you have grown my love,_ shifts, his dark eyes unseeing, flickering away from her face as if nothing was there before they turn on their youngest daughter. He does not soothe her. That is not his way, not in public, not to anyone but Joanna. He only instead pressed a hand on her stomach, a silent, gentle act that is meant to remind the babe that he is present. Areli reacted, automatic, as the gesture is familiar- _How that gladdens me-_ curling her hands around Tywin's thumb and forefinger. Tywin relaxed at the gesture, a slow rumble of a breath that passed in a fraction of a second. He too liked the gesture. She watched with keen, knowing eyes as whatever tension that had come to him from Areli's shriek left the proud hold of his shoulders.

 _Good. I suppose your yearning for gentleness has not died with my body, Tywin. Areli would give it as I had before, and you seem ready to receive it yet, my love._

"What's wrong with it?" and that's her little Cersei, voice high, curious, but unhappy.

Joanna can only suck in a breath at the innocent question that her eldest gave. _If she is to be the Queen that Tywin wishes her to be, she must learn to control her impulses. What have I told you a million times, my little love, of holding your tongue?_

"Cersei," the voice that Tywin gave is of pure coolness, displeasure clear enough that Cersei's delicate shoulders draw slightly inward, "She is not an _it_. Do not refer to your sister as such."

Cersei's little fist clenched.

"I do not have a sister."

Joanna cannot, despite the dangerous territory that her eldest is blundering through, cannot help but find a parallel.

" _It looks like you and your sister are in agreement, Areli._ "

The look that Areli gave her is the sternest, most unimpressed thing. _What a look- You make your father proud if you are so ready to give your disapproval!_

"You have one. Two brothers and one younger sister."

"I do no-"

"The House of Lannister has been blessed with four children. The heir, Jaime, the… The second son, Tyrion, the eldest Cersei, and the youngest, Areli. Recite it."

"But Father-"

"Cersei, repeat what I have recited to you."

"NO-"

"Repeat it or you will be escorted to your quarters where you will remain until I deem it acceptable to leave them. Perhaps you are not interested in seeing the Dornish Princess. I see you do not wish to present yourself to our esteemed guests. "

"But Mother always spoke of the Princess-"

"I do not repeat orders."

Cersei's lower lip trembled, but as Tywin lifted a hand to gesture to one of the many maids standing, she gave a breathless gasp.

"The House of Lannister has been blessed with four children. The heir, Jaime, the second son, Tyrion, the eldest Cersei, and the youngest, Areli."

Tywin looked to Cersei. His jaw was tight.

"Again."

"But I-"

Tywin went to lift his hand again. Cersei quickly began the phrase again, and again. Tywin looked away from their eldest child and only said, "Again." At each time the girl finished the phrase. Joanna watched as Tywin made their eldest repeat the phrase, with a tired sigh. Cersei's voice went hoarse as the early morning changed to mid-morning. When she reached for a chalice for some sort of refreshment, Joanna was not surprised that Tywin made the servants remove it from the table in front of Cersei. Looking close to furious tears, Cersei could only swallow with a dry throat and begin the phrase again.

 _If I could speak to you I would be upset at you, Tywin. Upset… But knowing of the lesson you are trying to instill._

Cersei said the words again and again until bright orange sails were seen on the horizon, by mid-afternoon. Tywin lifted a hand before he commanded that a single glass of lukewarm water was given to their eldest daughter. With a trembling hand, and under Tywin's gaze, Cersei drank the goblet. She drank carefully, mindful and as perfectly as Joanna could expect of a child of four name days.

"Let you remember this Cersei," Tywin said, calmly, drinking at his preferred wine. The goblet he was using shined in the sunlight, gems twinkling, "A Lannister does not deny other Lannisters. If I am to hear such things from you again, you will not have a drop to drink, to make you hold your tongue. You will go mute before you deny your siblings again. Am I understood?"

"Yes, father," croaked Cersei. Despite how high her voice was, she sounded akin to an old woman.

Tywin gave a nod, before looking away from their eldest to once again look at the ever approaching ships. Joanna wanted- Joanna wanted to touch her daughter. She wanted to press her hands to the small tears in her eyes, wanted to soothe those golden curls. But she did not dare. _Cersei would not feel it. She is not touched by the Stranger, she is too much like Tywin to even begin to understand how life and death are much more similar than she could know._ Joanna looked to her youngest, looked at her youngest and sees the horror and disgust in her young face.

" _He is not a monster,_ " she told her, and what else could she say?

Green eyes looked to her, and Areli frowned. Joanna gave her a sad smile.

" _He did it to defend you, to show that you are truly a Lannister. Cersei is so stubborn- So hurt over my death. You must be glad that your father defends you and Tyrion. It is the only way for her to understand._ "

Areli's face twisted and she seemed to be holding back tears.

" _Understand him truly before you cast judgment. He is a great man._ "

Areli twisted sharply in Tywin's arms. Tywin, surprised, but quick to react, held his hand to her stomach once again. Areli bared a toothless snarl, moving violently in her father's arms with a determination. _A stubbornness._

" _You'll hurt yourself."_

"Calm yourself," said Tywin, a note of displeasure coming into his voice, something almost akin to distress also in there.

" _Areli- Sto-_ "

Areli gave a wordless cry of defiance, leaning forward and glaring directly at Joanna in what- In what looks like true _hate_.

"Is she alright?" and Jaime, and he jumped from his place, crawling over the laps of his uncles and aunt, over Cersei to reach for his younger sister.

As if sensing his twin's distress, or perhaps just hearing her enraged shrieks, Tyrion started to cry. Cersei looked on with narrowed, hurt eyes.

" _ **Calm yourself**_ ," Tywin said, voice no louder than before, but much more dangerous.

" _Areli I beg you to STOP!_ "

By some miracle, she does. Or perhaps she realized that her point is made. _You will try and defy who you are, then? Even after all these moons?_ She looked at her with a heaving chest, her gums still barred. Joanna can see the defiance in her eyes. Joanna felt her jaw clench, had she been alive, flesh, the pressure would no doubt be enough to give her a headache. But she still reached for her youngest daughter, hands out in a soothing gesture. Areli shook her head- once, twice. A clear indicator that she does not wish for her touch. In the world of the living, Joanna decided to follow her choice- cannot help but do it in the wake of Areli obvious power to distress her family. _Choose your battles. You think you have won, my Strangeling? You think this is enough to make me stop?_

" _Please,_ " the breathless whisper of her voice is a tool, a weapon against this undecided child that is in a position to do so _much_ for their family, " _Please do not hurt yourself._ "

"Calm yourself," repeated Tywin, softer, and uncharacteristically revealed.

Tyrion cries are settled much swifter, Genna bouncing the squawking child in easy movements.

"You should not be so unruly, Areli," he said, voice turning colder.

Areli shivered, looking up at Tywin with contempt, that wavered at the look he is giving her. Stern, yes, but his eyes speak of so much more. Worry. Affection. _Good, my love._ She knew she is cared for. She knew that Tywin is very close to almost adoring her, in that distance, but a palpable way of his. Joanna gave her a sad, gentle smile.

" _And remember little lioness… You are where you belong._ "

* * *

 **AN:**

 **EDIT: 17 December 2019**

 **Okay, I rarely leave an author's note for Lion-Heart, so I ended up making a novel-length one for this chapter:**

 **It made my skin crawl the thought of a small child being denied anything to drink, for hours, and forced to speak around their parched throat. It may seem like a light punishment, but being dehydrated is no goddamn joke, especially for a child that young. It's not because Tywin is not capable. Let me make it clear in this moment that my goal is not to make Tywin all sunshine and rainbows and goodness and sugar drops.**

 **That is never been my goal in this, with any of the Lannisters, but especially with** _ **him**_ **.**

 **Tywin, in my eyes, is still a goddamn monster. However, I am** _ **humanizing**_ **him. Even the most monstrous of people can show kindness, can show affection to specific people. Areli is stuck in the middle of a place where our moderns standards of humanity and morality just** _ **do not**_ **apply. That doesn't justify Tywin's past and future actions, but it does, however, change their context and how she** _ **has**_ **to interpret them. She's between a rock and a hard place, and Joanna whispering in her ear has her all types of confused, especially because Areli is compassionate and in a lot of grief at the moment. But as shown in the chapter, she won't be so easily swayed but will be confused.**

 **Abuse wise, I wanted to mention that early sexual activity/acts is a common sign of abuse or neglect in children. Cersei and Jaime were supposed to have been caught by Joanna doing something sexual. They would have been very young, and that is** _ **not**_ **normal behavior for children. I've taken that and generally thought about Tysha as a springboard on how harshly Tywin disciplines all of his children. Even in the books and the show, the adult Lannisters show a certain amount of cowness to their father that is more than a warranted reaction to his domineering personality.**

 **In regards to Cersei in general, I've been getting two different types of comments that made me want to address her: She appears to be a tad cartoonish or, conversely, to essentially kill off the character as soon as possible. She will not be fully fleshed out until all of the children are a little older. Cersei, in both the books and in the show, is a** _ **grown**_ **woman. A grown woman that is not a good person, not even remotely, due to the circumstances of her childhood, her marriage, etc. She is cruel, vindictive and paranoid. She has made monstrous decisions that have at the very least, killed a lot of people via civil war, or straight-up murdered babies in their mother's arms(Robert's children).**

 **In Lion-Heart, as of now, she is four-years-old.** _ **Four.**_ **She's a brat, plain and simple, a brat who has recently lost her mother, and she is lashing out as a four-year-old does. I'm not saying that she is initially a good person. At the earliest, there is a possibility that Cersei has murdered someone at the age of eleven. If not, she was somehow involved. I'm willing to bet the former rather than the latter, not because I don't think her capable. It's just rare for a child to** _ **actively**_ **kill someone. In the way it's phrased in canon, it is left fairly ambiguous for the viewer/reader to interpret.**

 **She isn't evil, however, not at that moment. Not a lot of four-year-olds are evil. But I feel, much like Jaime, that had Cersei never fallen into a relationship with her twin, never married Robert, she would have been an infinitely better person. Not necessarily good, but perhaps better. Lion-Heart is an exploration of that, of all the Lannisters having their fate changed. The Lannisters are fascinating to me as characters, hence my choice for placing my OC in their family. Areli is a stone dropped into a still pond(** _ **I'm funny because that's a pun on how she died**_ **)- she unsettles the water, rings starting small but growing larger and larger as time goes on.**

 **On the subject of a time skip: it will occur the second the Dornish delegation is set to leave. After that, I will have a brief 'intermission' chapter of Areli's cornerstones of development from ages one to three, and the chapter after that will be a skip straight to Areli and Tyrion's presentation at the Royal Court, with them being around four, and then another intermission chapter until the Tourney that took place at Lannisport after Viserys' birth. I know Areli being a baby can be a tad boring to some, but a lot of things were happening around the time that Tyrion was born, and it was too interesting to skip out on. Not to mention I want to set up the dynamics of the family. So, just bare with me for a little bit.**

 **Happy Reading,**

 **Moon Witch '96**


	11. Elia I & Areli VI

_Elia I & Areli VI_

"Why is it so cold?"

Elia Martell tried her best not to roll her eyes at her brother's loud whine. It was difficult for the girl of nine days to disagree with him, however, even wrapped in a fine orange cloak, lined with the orange-spotted, supple fur of large desert cats that roamed the mountains of Dorne, Elia was _freezing._ She was even wearing an orange dress that reached all the way to her toes, covered _all_ of her neck and arms and back. As she had watched her seamstress place this dress and practically every dress for this voyage in her traveling trunk, she had frowned and shaken her head at the excess amount of fabric. How was she supposed to move her arms, if they were covered so tightly in silk and cotton, how was she supposed to run, if her legs were tangled in a skirt that had no split, and so many _layers? Proper Westori Ladies always cover their bodies._ How was she supposed to look pretty at all, if she covered herself up so much? She felt awkward and bound, trapped within these admittedly pretty silks...

But, as they had moved away from the sea near Dorne, she had understood too well why so much fabric was required. She still felt as if the cold air was over her bare skin, her fine silk, cotton, and lace seemingly disappearing in the wake of it. She did not know how the Westori did it, live with such cold that the very precious rain froze in the very air as it fell. She had never seen this thing Lady Joanna had described as snow, only from a distance, on mountain tops so removed from her. And Elia found she did not care for it. She was not a stranger to cold, of course- The deserts of Dorne could be extreme, blazing hot and freezing cold in the day and night. But somehow, the Westori cold was different. In Dorne, the cold could be staved off with a fire, and light furs. The cold of the Westori seeped into her very bones, making her shake and quiver all the way into the deepest part of her.

But, unlike her younger brother, she knew better to be so _annoying_ about it.

"Because its Winter," the implication of his stupidity was in her voice, but Elia was too much of a Lady to say it outright.

Oberyn obnoxiously chartered his teeth. Elia made sure to clench her teeth to prevent the noise.

"Its Winter at home too," he snapped back, rolling his eyes, "And it isn't this _cold._ "

"Then you've never spent a day in the Mountains during a Winter year, then, my Prince," called a cheerful soldier, a Ser Dor, who was from around the Mountains, he whistled between the gape in his teeth, "Snow can fall like this. But it's usually more ice than anything."

"How can people live here?" continued Oberyn, as if he had not heard the knight.

Elia shrugged.

"It's not _always_ Winter."

"The second we are in this Casterly Rock I am throwing myself into the nearest fire," said Oberyn, tartly.

She cannot help but release a snort.

"When did we become Targaryens, brother?"

"The second I felt the first breeze."

"You are so _dramatic._ You should run away and join a mummer's show."

Oberyn grinned, flashing a near full set of teeth, white and brilliant against his coppery skin.

"I would make a handsome mummer, wouldn't I?"

"If they had no one else. I suppose you would have to do."

Oberyn frowned at her.

"Aren't you bothered by the cold?"

"Of course I am, brother. But complaining about it will not make it go away."

Oberyn snorted.

"It makes me feel better," he gave an impish smile.

Elia couldn't help but smile in return. Her brother complaining, she had no tolerance for. But making jests? That she did tolerate… Even enjoy.

"Come here."

She opened up her cloak, wide, and her brother pounced at the opportunity. He squirmed into her cloak, and nearly a two heads shorter then her, Elia was able to place her chin on his head, and gather her cloak around his shivering shoulders. The only thing she left exposed to the cold air was his face. He held her cloak tightly together in front of them and pressed as close as he could around the many layers of her skirts. His body was freezing against her, but she knew that soon enough their combined body warmth would be so much more comfortable.

"This is much better," mused Oberyn, after a moment, snuggling deeper into her embrace.

Elia laughed, squeezing him slightly in her arms.

"Was this your plan all along?"

"If I said yes, would you make me move?"

"No. You are my personal warmer now. You will stay here even if you want to move."

Oberyn laughed as well. He waited a moment, his shivering easing until it stopped altogether. Elia herself felt her shoulders relax easily with the warmth of a second person.

"I keep thinking we will see Lady Joanna once we reach the shore."

Elia blinked, waiting for tears, but found that at this point, they were all gone. She had met Lady Joanna in person once- just once. She had been five namedays in King's Landing for the King's coronation… When Lady Joanna had entered the room, in a golden gown that matched her hair, elegantly braided, so _long._ She thought she had seen the Maiden herself, highlighted by the lights of the windows from the Great Sept. Than she had smiled, smiled brightly and made her way to her mother and embraced her as if she was her sister. When her bright green eyes had looked to her, and brightened in delight at the sight of her. She had come to her knees, hands warm and gentle to touch at Elia's face as if she was the most delightful creature in the world.

After that, the woman had insisted on sending a raven to her. Not to her mother, not to the House Martel, but specifically to Princess Elia Martel of Dorne, scented soft of some floral scent that Elia could never pinpoint. They had kept a correspondence, thrown ravens across mountains and the sea over everything in their lives. Elia had felt so adult, so much like a proper lady. Lady Joanna had become so dear to her, in those four years of written words and beats of black feathers between them.

Even now, sometimes Elia would find herself pulling out a sheet of parchment, her pen poised over parchment to send a raven, only to remember that it would never be replied.

"Lady Joanna is in a better place, now."

"Mother is so sad."

Elia did not respond, only tightened her hold over her brother's thin shoulders.

"Do you think that you could be happy living there? Mother says you will be the next Lady of Casterly Rock, but will you be happy there?"

Looking at the ever-approaching mass that was Casterly Rock, Elia could admit, it was an impressive sight. Vivdly different from what she knew of the coasts of Dorne, Casterly Rock stood a contrast to her own thoughts of what a castle should be. The cliff, the cliff itself was so _tall,_ so tall that the castle, which by Lady Joanna's letters, was twice as so large as their home, and four times as tall, looked but a spot from their position, a lump on the enormous cliffs. It looked amazing, it looked well and grand…

"If Lady Joanna was happy… How could I not?" her response is said kindly, and she gives her brother a gentle squeeze on his shoulders.

Obreyn wiggled unhappily.

"Jaime is only four years old. Won't you be bored with him?"

Elia gave a shrug.

"I suppose. But he will grow, just as I will."

Obreyn snorted.

"I think you should marry me instead. At least you would stay in Dorne… Where it doesn't get so cold."

"I can't marry you, brother. We are not like the Tarygerans."

"Marry Aruther than. I don't want you to live so far away."

"Its the duty of any lady, to move away from their home and make a new home in their husband's home."

"But you are Princess. You are not a lady."

Elia could only sigh, shaking her head. Though they stood at only a year apart, somehow, Oberyn was so much younger than her in strange ways.

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Areli wanted to scream.

Or, well, she wanted to stand up, scream profanities at Joanna, crawl off of Tywin Lannister and go on her merry way. _As far as fucking possible._ From the situation. From this ghostly woman that would not leave her _alone_. Joanna, _thank Jesus fucking Christ,_ was not saying anything, only looking at the horizon as the orange specks grew closer and closer, larger and larger. They looked like three Spanish galleons, as far as Areli could describe, but not quite. These were sleeker, longer from the vague memories she had from movies, documentaries and history textbooks. They also had what looked like holes for oars, something she knew were not typical to Spanish Galleons. More like a Viking ship, or a Roman one.

"Father can I hold her?" asked Jaime, carefully, looking up hopefully. He was ignoring the approaching ships, half on the lap of the man called Kevan Lannister, half leaning over Tywin's lap, inching closer and closer to touch Areli with wiggling hands.

He had yet to return to his position on the other side of his Uncle, and Areli had been utterly surprised that Tywin had not remarked on the four-year-old clinging on his arm, looking down at her. It was surprisingly tolerant of Tywin, and part of her wondered if her little protest had startled him. _Worried him._ She squished that thought the _fuck_ out of her head, baring her gums. She just decided it is because Jaime was said to be his favorite child, not anything particular to her. She looked at the little boy, looking at her surely furious expression with concern. His green eyes are wide, and his expression is softly concerned. Its the innocence in his expression that gripped her. It's that innocence that made something in her throat seize in desperation.

"She is much to heavy for you, Jaime," Twyin's voice is cold, and his grip on her body tightened.

Areli squirmed in discomfort, trying to give herself a little distance between her and this horrible man, reaching for Jaime without another thought, whimpering to be away from this man that _scared her._

His hold just tightened, and those damn eyes of his, those eyes that do not hide his expression as well as his face, look concerned and confused-

"Oh no, Father, I held her before. I even carried her! And Mother taught me how to hold her head and everything. Maybe if her big brother holds her she would not be so upset. Look, she is reaching for me!"

If not for Tywin's stunt with his daughter, Areli would have found it adorable how eager little Jaime looked. As it was she could only shoot Tywin a sour look, tears in her eyes as she reached for Jaime once again.

"Please, father."

"... Very well," the voice was cool and indifferent, "You can only hold her until the Dornish receive their salt and bread, you must remain seated next to me and if it looks as if you cannot hold her, I will take her back."

"Thank you, Father!"

The look in Tywin's emerald eyes was something she couldn't quite name. Something she had trouble looking at because it made her feel things that unsettle her. _Monster. Monster. Monster._ The accusation is screamed in her head, the fury, and fright at how he had punished his eldest daughter fresh within her. Everyone stood, shifting their positions as little Jaime took his chair right next to his father, slipping off of Kevan's lap to take the entire chair for himself. Once he was seated, dwarfed in the enormous armchair to Tywin's immediate right, Jaime lifted his arms reaching for her with a bright, beaming smile. Eagerly, she reached for Jaime, _you're good, you're a child,_ as Tywin gently shifted her over. Jaime, just as before, was careful when he held her. Mindful of her neck and head, despite the fact that at this point Areli could more or less support her own body weight. Cooing as he takes a blanket from his father, wrapping it around her form. Out of Tywin's arms, Areli relaxed, eased into the little boy's embrace.

Dark emerald eyes, just like her Father's eyes, glare at her, from the seat next to Jaime.

Cersei Lannister is such a painfully beautiful child. Areli looked at her biological sister, this china-doll of a child, and wondered at her. Wondered at the poor child forced to speak again and again for some offense that Areli thought so minor. She saw that her lips, full as they are, are chapped, split in both cold and lack of beverage in what has been hours. _You poor kid._ Areli wondered, if this had been a punishment that Tywin had forced on Cersei if Areli hadn't present before. Would just Tyrion also been 'defended' as Joanna had put it? _I'm sorry._ The words hovered on her tongue, on her lips. But she does not say them out loud, binding her tongue to silence until Tyrion speaks in somewhat coherent sentences. _I already have too much attention from_ _ **him.**_

"Hello, Areli," said Jaime, softly, sweetly, and Areli felt part of her heart wrench at the genuine warmth she head in his tone. He bounced her, once twice, before he settled into a rocking motion, "Why so mad, little cub?"

 _Our biological father is a fucking psychopath? And our biological mother is a crazy delusional bitch that isn't any better?_

She hummed in sullen response, grumpily, rubbing her face into the supple yellow ruff of the fur of his collar. She has become so touch starved in her second life- Or perhaps it's just a result of being so young. Areli knew from vague and far back readings of around the time that her sister Amy had become pregnant at fifteen( _God, what a mess that had been_ ), how important it was for children to have physical affection. Jaime slowly used his hand, the one that isn't holding her to his body, to rub up and down her back. Areli sighed at the motion.

"Well, it looks like all sisters love their eldest brother, eh, Tywin?" the voice is the woman Areli had seen before, in Tywin's office, the large young woman that she suspects is her biological and paternal Aunt.

Tywin gave a small nod in her direction, his eyes trained on Areli.

"She is calming, at any rate," he responded his voice the picture of indifference.

Vaguely, as she relaxed into Jaime's innocent warmth, Areli wondered if the middle finger meant the same in this world as it had in her world. She turned away from looking at the man that had obsessively taken care of her for weeks, turning her chin to rest on Jaime's shoulder. Over Jaime's shoulder, she looked at Cersei again and saw this… _anger._ It is a weird thing, to see on a child's face, this intense jealousy, and dislike. Areli tightened her fists and frowned at the girl that is her biological elder sister. _You're just a child. You're just a child but you have the potential to be just as horrible as the man that just abused you._

Areli had no idea what to feel for this girl. She had little to no interaction with her before this, one moment of waking to sentience with this girl above her, calling her a monster. Tyrion, until Tywin's obsession, had been her constant companion. Jaime was just a little boy trying to be with his new siblings despite the consequences of what she thinks now is horrific punishment via his father. This girl was just… So removed from her. And so eager to disassociate herself from both Tyrion and Areli. The possibility of her future also pledges Areli's mind, because Cersei Lannister as Areli had known her as Ana, was just as monstrous as the father that had made them both.

" _She has really outdone herself,_ " mused Joanna, softly her voice like a whisper on the wind.

Unable to help herself, Areli sent her a dirty look, turning her body completely away from the moral dilemma that was Cersei. She hoped it conveys the fact that she wanted Joanna to shut the fuck up. Part of her is tempted to say it out loud, but she knows better to make the first words heard by others to be profanity. Or so soon. Joanna turned to her, this ethereal creature made even more otherworldly in the waking world. She is beauty and translucent, the stereotypical thing that Areli would have called a ghost in her first life. She gave a soft smile that was eerily similar to Jamie's.

" _Princess Meria Nymeros Martell of Sunspear. Ruler of the seventh kingdom of the Weseroes. She is a friend, that like myself, was handmaiden to Queen Shaera of the House Targaryen until we became handmaidens of her daughter, the then Princess Rhaella..._ " she trailed off, a fondness in her face that is wistful, of life, of the past she had in King's Landing, Areli could not say, " _She is four and ten years older then myself, and is-_ _ **was**_ _one of my dearest friends. She is a widow and has three surviving children. Doran, who is nine and ten, and is no doubt has been given this time to rule without his mother. A test, Meria was fond of those... Then their is Elia, her only girl of nine namedays, a pretty little thing, intelligent… And her youngest son, Obyern, eight namedays, mischievous child. They are good allies to the Westerlands._ "

Areli stared at her, and Joanna pointed with her hand to oncoming ships, just now entering the mouth of the large cave that Areli knew is bellow the large castle that is now her home.

" _Unbowed, Unbent, and Unbroken are their words. And they will marry into our family. I hope, at the very least, Jaime will marry Elia. She is a sweet girl, and would make a fine Lady of the Rock…_ "

"Jaime, hold your sister well, and you may stay at my right. Cersei, If you wish to stay at your brother's right hold onto Tyrion. Do _not_ speak unless the eldest Princess directly addresses you. Gerion, settle _down._ Tygett, control our brother. Clear the table for the salt and bread."

Everyone is a flurry of movement and Areli anxiously watched as Cersei is handed the baby that was born with her. Her face is unhappy, her eyes narrow as the boy is given to her, but her eyes also anxiously flicker to Tywin. Fear is there, and she held Tyrion just as well as Jaime held her. It seemed that everyone held a breath as the three ships dock. Their sails are this unrepentant orange, bright, and just like the tent that they sit in, held an enormous symbol of their House, a red sun pierced by a yellow spear. _Does everyone plaster their House symbol like this? Because this is going to be so_ _ **obnoxious**_ _to see constantly._ It is right in front of them, done by design no doubt, that the ramp that belongs to the largest ship, is set down.

The other two ships set down their own planks, larger, and by some unseen signal, or perhaps practice, people start to descend by four from the two ships, large round platters piled and piled with various things, above their hands. She sees beautiful and delicate glass bottles with various colored liquids, she sees piles of what looks like spices in brilliant containers, and brightly colored fruits. Behind the people in with the platters, comes large men with barrels, casks that she thinks might be wine, and behind them are ladies that hold large bolts of what she suspects is silk and lace over their shoulders. They are dressed in pretty bright silks of a garish yellow, and Areli shivered at the sight of them. They all walk until they are in front of the tent, and get on their knees, their heavy burdens still above them, on their shoulders. They bow their heads, and wait.

One man, tall, dressed in armor that is so different from what the man Tywin had called Tygett, sleeker and lighter. Foreign design to her in a way that isn't akin to what she imagines as a medieval knight. The metal is a burnt orange colored, perhaps bronze or copper, flowing with long silks of both red and yellow. He held what must be a ceremonial golden spear in hand, a large sun of run laced through it. The man, solemn and straight-faced, banged the spear as he came down the plank, a steady rhythm that is like a drum beat, a complex melody that is perfectly executed. He came to stand in front of the servants, with a deep bow to each of the Lannisters, before he straightened.

Areli watched with a careful eye at the presentation, bewildered.

"To the glorious welcome of the Westerlands, I come forth for Princess Nymeros Martell of Sunspear, ruling Princess," his voice is deep, and he has been trained to project it over vast distances, "And her children, Princess Elia Martell and Prince Obeyrn Martell of Sunspear. Are my Princesses and Prince welcome?"

Tywin stood, and so do the rest of the Lannisters.

"To our guests," Tywin spoke for himself, no servant comes for to do it for them, a cultural difference, or perhaps just a control thing. His voice, too, projects, "I do welcome the Princesses and Prince of Dorne. I invite them to consume our salt and bread."

It was apparently the right thing to say, as the Princesses and the Prince appear on the top of the ship's plank, hand in hand.

They too, are dressed in impressive silks. Unlike their servants, all of their clothing is orange, brighter, not taking the same rust tones as man's armor or the sail above them. They and their servants are darker-skinned than anyone she had seen in this life. The people of the west seemed to be more or less tanned, golden-skinned as a sort of rule, whilst the people of Dorne looked closer to what she had seen in Inuit people, as they were olive-skinned, in various shades.

Meria, Elia and Oberyn Martell were gorgeous and completely different from the people had witnessed so far in this second life.

 _What is with the genetics of this world where all these people are too fucking pretty?_

Their hair was black, and straight as a pin, unlike the Lannisters, and was very fine, framing their faces with a widow's peak. Their eyes were dark brown, but heavily lidded and sparkled, catching the light. Their lips were plump but well-shaped, curved like a bow's. The girl, or what she assumed was the girl due to her dress, had a mole, right on her left cheek and when she smiled it was the sweetest thing. The boy's smile was slightly crooked and he shifted uneasily in the cold. Meria Martell, Princess and apparent ruler of Drone, was, as her children, beautiful. However, her beauty was tempered, waned in wake of stress or something that Areli could not say, of the tight way she held her thinner lips.

Her hair, black and as sleek as her children's long enough to touch the edges of her knees, was threaded with silver, and it contrasted to the glittering bronze metal of her circlet. Her eyes were dark as pitch, narrowed and assessing. Her face, though unlined, had a hint of yellow in its dark complexion, and was further marred with the deep bags beneath her eyes. The Princess of Dorne seemed to be a run down the woman and a touch sickly, at least to Areli's careful and further improving eyes as they come to stand in front of the Lannisters.

" _Oh… Oh Meria,"_ Joanna's voice is a sigh, and sad, " _You were always so delicate._ "

Areli frowned.

"Welcome to Casterly Rock, your grace," Tywin's voice is careful, neutral.

He gave her a stately nod, which is echoed by the rest of the Lannisters, giving true bows and elegant curtsies. Jaime wobbled a bit with her in his arms but managed to do it without dropping her. Cersei, holding Tyrion, does the same. The Martels all nod in response, but do not bow or curtsy. A signal of their slightly higher status as Princes, or perhaps again that cultural difference that Areli did not quite understand.

"I am welcomed," Princess Meria's voice is lightly accented, sweeter and more lyrical than that of the West.

"I offer you salt and bread as I welcome you into my home."

Princess Meria smiled, a small turn of those thin lips.

"Yes, of course. Elia, sweetling, if you will."

The little girl gave a perfect full smile and walked before Tywin Lannister with outstretched hands.

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Lord Tywin," the girl's whisper is not so quiet that it cannot be heard by everyone else.

"You are welcome to the Rock, Princess Elia."

Areli is struck by the realization, as Tywin carefully carved bread from a loaf on the table between them, that this interaction was present in the version of the world where Areli never existed. Her stomach twisted, as Tywin gave bread to the girl, and sprinkled salt above the three slices. _She knew this man, she knew him and he would kill her and her children without remorse._ Elia gave a careful nod, still smiling before she walked back to her mother and her brother.

The Martells eat the three slices in a careful, but quick way, consuming the bread and salt.

As they finish, Princess Meria walked to the table herself, a wider smile on her face. Her children hang back, silent, their only reaction to their mother walking forward is to settle their hands in a delicate clasp in front of them.

"I come bearing gifts, Lord Tywin, the bounty of Dorne for the House Lannister."

Princess Meria gestured behind her in an elegant way, the many bangles on her wrist a musical clang of metal. They were beautifully crafted, and Areli noted with some interest that they matched the metal gold belt around her waist.

"I have no doubt. A fleet of ten full ships to start your journey, some would call that excessive, especially as I see that you have brought such a small party. I thought you would have brought a larger party, not just your younger children."

"I thought it better to have Doran left with a full-court instead of half of one- It will be educational to him."

At that, Tywin gave her a slight smirk.

"I am sure your heir will appreciate such a thing. The tales of your generosity at each port was heard for moons as you left gifts to noble houses in both Dorne and with the Westerlands. I see that you have brought exclusively three of those ten ships for our House."

Those thin lips hitch up in a beautiful smirk.

"Dorne is ever generous to friends- especially dear friends, my Lord."

A silence settled between them, a sort of uneasy neutrality that Areli wondered what their beef was with each other, as they stared each other down, both of them giving the other a smirk.

" _I see that their posturing has not changed,_ " mused Joanna, a light sigh escaping her.

Areli, despite herself, turned to the ghostly woman with a raised brow. Joanna gave her a small smile.

" _Your father and Princess Meria are what you would call friendly rivals. Constantly competing for prestige and relevance. When we made our visit to Dorne before the War-_ " Areli blinked, surprised at the mention of a war, having no idea what Joanna was talking about, " _Tywin was a bit boorish in our own journey, he took five ships and gave out gold as if it was blades of grass. I believe Meria decided, too, as it were, show him up in that regards with her own trip here. Ten ships and three for one house. By the light of the Seven!_ "

"I hope that House Lannister is not offended that I sent the other seven ships back to Dorne!"

"By no means. You have honored my House with your generosity."

"Of course. Now that that is settled, I must ask you to lead us inside the second we finish our introductions. It is freezing, Tywin, and I am afraid us Dornish are ill-suited to your Westori cold!"

Tywin gave the woman a raised brow.

"As ill-suited that I was to your Dornish heat, no doubt."

"You came to us in the height of a four year Summer, as I come to you in the middle of Winter, perhaps we are at fault for choosing such bad timing."

"Perhaps."

Meria eased her smirk, and carefully pulled her children forward with a simple gesture of her hands. Both Princess and Prince come to stand next to their mother.

"My children, Elia and Oberyn."

Both children give careful waved, and small nods, once again not giving full shows of deference. They do not speak.

The Lannisters move in sync. Jaime and Cersei walk to stand next to heir father, flanking his right.

"My children. Jaime, the heir, my second son Tyrion, my eldest Cersei, and my youngest Areli."

They bow and curtsy, but also do not say a word. Kevan and the woman beside him moving forward, flanking Tywin's left.

"My second brother, Ser Kevan, and his wife Doran Swift."

They bow and curtsey, but do not say a word. The pale blond man from before, the one in the armor, moved forward.

"My third brother, Ser Tygett."

Areli looked at her second biological Uncle as he bowed and blinked again as the eleven-year-old boy also comes forward.

"My youngest brother, Gerion."

Princess Meria nodded her head to everyone in turn. She gave a smile that was softer, less smirky and gentler.

"A large and prosperous house."

"Ser Tygett, you will coordinate with the needs of the ships, Lady Genna, assist the Princess with the coordination of her own luggage. Princess, as you are no doubt fatigued from your extensive journey. I look forward to seeing you at the welcoming feast by the eve. Rest as if it was your home."

"Yes, Lord Tywin," called the chorus of the people of he had indicated.

Princess Meria gave him a careful nod, her slightly swallow face shifting slightly into relief.

"I thank you properly for the opportunity of a reprieve, Lord Tywin. Ser Dor, if you will assist Ser Tygett?"

"Of course, My Princess."

Areli watched this with trepidation as Tywin turned to the silent Jaime. His arms reaching for her and she debated for a moment whether or not to make another scene. She decided against it, simply because she has no idea what would happen to her if she displeased Tywin in front of strangers. Tywin lifted her with ease, placing her in the crook of his arm with a slight sigh, before he left, addressing no other person in the cave.

Not even with a glance.

* * *

 **EDIT: 17 December 2019**


	12. Elia II & Meria I

_Elia II & Meria I_

It took her a moment of staring, for Elia to understand what is it about Jaime Lannister's face that she found comforting. It isn't just that it is a comely face, or that she wanted to pinch those rounded golden cheeks. Her future husband looked like a doll she used to own, her _favorite_ one. The one that Lady Joanna had sent to her for her fifth nameday. He had the same wide, round face, and his eyes looked like the green glass beads, dressed in a pretty smock of gold and red. She had carried it everywhere with her.

Or at least she had before she had decided that she was much too old for such a thing at seven namedays and switched to playing with the spear that Doran had gifted her.

 _Did Lady Joanna do that on purpose? Give me a pretty doll that looked like her family?_

Elia frowned, slightly, as the young boy who would have only reached the middle of her chest, ignored her, not even looking her way as he stood, still shaded in the large tent the Lannisters had greeted them in. He was also ignoring Oberyn, but she was most upset that he ignored her. _Did he not_ _ **know**_ _I could be his wife?_ He was really young, of course, but her mother would have told her if she had been just four. He was looking at his twin, the identical young girl, Cersei, who she was only able to see was a girl because of the fact that she was wearing a dress. Even their hair length was the same, just off the shoulders in tight ringlet curls that Elia envied, as even with hot irons and oils, her hair would remain straight as a pin. They caught the light, pretty golden strands that Elia ached to touch. She wondered if they would find it offensive if she pulled at the shape of their hair, and checked if it sprung back into place.

"Give him to me if you don't want to carry him," said Jaime, voice high and sweet, but he sounded surprisingly stern as he reached for the baby boy in his sister's arms.

Elia watched as the girl glared at her twin, baring her teeth, and all but shoved the peculiar infant into her brother's arms. Peculiar, because his head was so big in comparison to his body, and because he was so quiet. Many of her cousins would be so _loud_ at that age. Jaime stumbled at the violent thrust but kept hold of the baby. He frowned at the girl as she crossed her arms, dislike evident as she looked at her younger brother.

"We should just give him to a servant," said the girl, and she sounded awfully hoarse, her voice a dreadful rasp. She tossed her hair, elegantly braided and carefully over her shoulder in a smooth motion, "We don't need him here, Jaime."

Her mother, discussing things with Lady Genma, also heard the girl, and turned swiftly, frowning.

"Cersei," her voice was sweet, but firm in a way that Elia knew her mother was alarmed, "Are you ill, child?"

Cersei turned an interesting shade of red, a blotchy thing that reached the roots of her hair. She dipped into a serviceable curtsy, eyes glaring straight into her mother's own. Elia frowned again, as it was highly disrespectful to do so, for a child to be so bold against an adult, let alone _the_ Princess, but put it down to the child being embarrassed. The only indication that the gesture upset or displeased her mother was the slight furrow of her brow and the narrowing of her eyes.

"Your grace," said the girl, quickly, and Elia watched on as she kept her chin parallel to the ground, her back stiff, "I-"

"She has caught a small chill last night," interrupted Lady Genna, a slight smile on her face, sending her niece a pointed look, "But our Maester said it is not anything grave or contagious. I hope her presence here has not offended you, Princess Meria?"

Cersei fell silent, but nodded, looking to the ground with another furious glare. Her shoulders started to drop before she narrowed her eyes and forcefully straightened her back.

"I have taken no offense, Lady Gemna. I only ask because Elia is of delicate health, and would not wish for her to become ill on what is meant to be a friendly visit."

Elia sent the blushing girl a kind smile, as she looked up, and was met with a frown. Still, she carried on the smile. This girl, after all, was to be her younger sister, and would no doubt be a constant companion to her if her mother convinced Lord Tywin for Elia to foster in Casterly Rock until Jaime was old enough for their marriage. She turned to her mother, still smiling.

"Mother," she said softly, "I will be fine. Would it be too much trouble if I, Oberyn and the Lannister children are excused to go and explore the Keep?"

"Of course, my love. Go and get to know each other. You know when the Welcome Feast is to occur, so you know I expect your return within two hours."

"Thank you, Mother."

The boy, the boy that was Lord Tywin's youngest brother, Gerion, who was a little older than her, looked over with a bright smile. He was quite pretty, and next to Jaime, she could see how much prettier her future husband would become as he grew older. She was glad of this as she could admit to herself that a handsome husband was welcomed, and would only hope that the boy would be as sweet as his looks. He seemed to be so eager to hold his baby brother, and earlier his youngest sister… Elia wondered, why Lord Tywin had taken the younger girl and not Tyrion but dismissed it in favor of smiling kindly at Jaime.

Jaime returned the smile, soft and lovely sort of smile that Elia liked very much. But his attention was taken by the infant in his arms, who struggled with a small cry. Jaime did his best to soothe the baby, bouncing up and down in a rocking motion. Elia found herself smiling wider because it shows how kind the little boy was. They started to make their way, flanked by a handful of servants, belonging to themselves and their hosts.

Heading to a large door that was opened by them by two red-cloaked guards, who bowed to them as they crossed the thresh-hold, Elia admired the grandeur evident even in the lower levels of Casterly Rock. _This is to be mine one day._ When the enormous door closed behind them, Elia gazed at the elegant carvings that lined the walls, as well as the gently sloping paved path. Light was provided by numerous and large braziers in the wall. They made their way silently, eying each other to asses the others. All of them wanted to be the first to speak, Elia knew, but no one was quite brave enough to speak just yet. It was perhaps his age or what she suspects is his nature of impulsivity that made Gerion Lannister speak first:

"Is it true that people in Dorne eat lizards?" asked Gerion smiling widely.

Elia blinked.

"Sometimes, though it isn't-" she replied, only to interrupt by her future good-sister.

"Why would you want to eat lizards?!" croaked Cersei, eyes wide.

"Because they are delicious," mentioned Oberyn, eyes glittering at the disgust on Cersei's face. He was ever the one to tease, and she feared that their new friends would not tolerate such jests from a relative stranger.

Cersei wrinkled her nose and looked at Jaime as if they were mad. Elia sighed impatiently, realizing she was the most mature of the group and would have to act as a peacemaker. A role constant to her because Doran was _impossibly_ impatient with Obyern's 'impertinent' attitude, and Obyern was always bucking in protest against Doran's orders. She gave her brother a careful tweak on the ear, to express her wish for him to censor himself if only a small amount.

"Cattle and venison are rare delicacies in Dorne. Fish is much more common along the coast, as is horse-meat and yes, occasionally lizards called iguanas are eaten as well. But it is not a common dish."

"What's it taste like?" said Jaime, curiously, still rocking Tyrion.

Obyern looked Jaime up and down, from the way that held the baby with the startlingly large head and startingly small limbs in his arms, to the straight way he stood.

"Like chicken. I happen to like it," replied Obyern, with an eye roll.

Cersei scoffed.

"You… You are strange!"

"Well, what do you usually eat here?"

"Fish and beef and chickens and lamb- _normal_ things."

"Well, we eat all that too. And pigs. Are there no pigs in the West?"

"Of course they are. But my Father isn't found of boar or pig. He likes deer, however."

"Not that father is here often," mentioned Jaime, matter-of-factly.

"That's because he's Hand of the King," Cersei interjected with obvious pride, her hoarse voice pleased, "He is needed away from home."

"Well, Mother is Princess Nymoeros," boasted Oberyn, equally as prideful.

Cersei raised a brow.

"So?"

Elia blinked. The title was of grave significance in Dorne and was one met with awe within their kingdom. As was only proper. The education of the Westori obviously was limited in the regard of the titles of Dorne, and she resolved to correct her future family over the nuances of such significant things as soon as she was settled within the Keep proper.

" _Princess Nymoeros_. She is the ruling Princess of Dorne," said Oybern, with the patience of a much smaller child.

"Well, I know that," sniffed Cersei in her terribly croaky voice, sounding slightly unsure, "What does it matter? Father is Lord of Casterly Rock and the Hand of the King. He rules the Westerlands and he helps rule the Seven Kingdoms."

"You Westori know _nothing_ ," argued Obyern, sharply.

Cersei's face twisted.

"It's not as important as being Hand of the King," she snapped back.

Oberyn only clicked his tongue. Elia only sighed at was obviously to be an obstacle between them all and could only hope by the time she married Jaime, that they could learn to be at least _somewhat_ civil.

000000000

"How fairs Lord Tywin, truly?" asked Princess Meria, it was said bluntly, without censure as she handed the curvaceous woman a fine Dornish red. Princess Meria could afford to be blunt as she had convinced Lady Genna to tour her ships, and within her ship's cabin, she was within her own territory, so to speak.

She was very aware that she was perhaps overstepping herself. Joanna had always been tight-lipped on the moods of her husband and defended him to a concerning point, but the loyalty in such a gesture was absolute. And understandable- even admirable from Meria's point of perspective. The Lannisters were a proud lot, and it is evident as Lady Genna turned to her, her thin lips a firm line, that it was a pride that extended to all the lions. She knew the information she sought would not be easily won from this woman and the loyalty to her brother was heartening, if annoying. They would accept Elia into their fold, as Meria planned on including the second girl into her household, no matter how queer she looked.

"As well as you can expect. He does not falter in his duties," her voice is pleasant if guarded. She sipped her wine as a way to finish speaking, the gesture practiced.

Meria hummed.

"I ask not for his performance. Lord Tywin will cease to be himself if he does not take care of the Realm with his firm hand. I ask instead of his behavior- his moods since Joanna's passing."

"As well as you can expect."

 _A perfectly reasonable response_ , noted Meria. But practiced and not informative. _Dear me, Joanna, were you here…_

But if Joanna were there, Meria would not bother to ask. She had little care for Tywin Lannister as an individual. He was arrogant and twisted as all Westori were to see women as lesser creatures. Their rivalry had not been born of an exchange of equals, but instead the intense desire to right each other in the regard of their sexes. Though he had proven himself a competent leader, a competent rival… The fate of the Reynes had left darkness upon House Lannister, upon him that had caused fear to be the common reaction to this young lord. Meria could consent through observation that Tywin Lannister was not the type of human being who should ever grieve.

He loved seldom, but strongly, and if there was one thing that Meria had liked of the man was his love for Joanna. And that had been intense and consumed both their lives, and part of Meria thought it had been the intensity of such a love that had drawn sweet Joanna to her higher-born cousin in the first place. He was not an easy man, nor a kind one by any esteem and though Meria could admit to herself that he had the makings of a legendary man, she knew that legends ran on both sides of the coin. The Reynes proved he could be monstrous. The love he had held for Joanna had been akin to Florian the Fool and his maiden Jonquil. But it was that love that could turn him now.

It was her wariness of what type of man grief could turn this man into, and her own love of Joanna that made her ask.

"I know this must seem as if I ask too much into his affairs. But Joanna loves- loved him. I know what it is like to lose love as strong as that. If anything, she was my friend. I owe her to inquire after her husband and see how he is coping with the absence. I only wish to help him."

Lady Genna stared at her before she heaved a sigh.

"He has been acting as if nothing has changed. That I expected… But he has also attached himself most unhealthy with his youngest- Areli has been at her father's side non-stop, with the only exception being at night when he retires for sleep," the words are whispered, soft and hushed as if Genna is uncertain she should be saying it aloud.

The pale babe that her future goodson had held comes to mind for Meria. A pretty looking thing, if you ignored the paleness altogether. It was an unhealthy look, and part of Meria had winced at the sight of such a color on a baby that was alive. The unfinished look to her skin had reminded her vividly of her still-borns, and the pale blue veins that had crossed her skin even more so. _Unfinished things that had made her scream and mad with grief._ Though general paleness was not so out of place on the look of the Westori, she doubts such a look was welcome by the Westlanders and their general golden-colored skin. The babe had been a dolce thing but had had an open, wide-eyed look as she took in foreign colors and the like. _A curious baby with Joanna's eyes._

"He is fixated on the babe?"

Genna gave a humorless laugh.

"It seems ridiculous. I know. He wanted nothing to do with Areli when I arrived. And then the next morning she was in his Solar and he has yet to leave the babe alone. He is the only one- other then Jaime I suppose, that gets to touch her."

The actions are so similar that Meria almost returned Genna's comment with a laugh. Meria had lost so many people- Her parents. Her husband. So many _children_. Her living children, she clung to, after the death of her husband, and she wondered however much she personally disliked Tywin, that they were frightfully alike.

"Perhaps that is not so queer in the wake of death. After my husband's passing, nothing was more loved or jealously guarded than my children. Especially my youngest."

Genna shakes her head.

"Perhaps. But he ignores the rest of his children, with some attention to paid to Jaime. My brother is not an affectionate man by nature, Princess Meria. That is what really causes my unease with his actions."

"I shall observe him, and try to help him… For Joanna."

Lady Genna gave a slightly rueful smile.

"For Joanna, I believe I shall let you."

They finished their drinks in silence the familiar smooth burn of the red passing their lips as they thought of the woman that had linked them all together.

* * *

 **AN:**

 **EDIT: 17 December 2019**

 **Welp. I honestly did not expect to finish this chapter so soon. Ironically I'm not even working on editing this story currently, as I have been mostly working on another one of my fanfictions, but I had left the chapter document on my computer open, went to close it and then suddenly- BAM. Chapter done. That's not necessarily a bad thing, though and I will post an author's note chapter or mention it in the next chapter when I finish editing the first eleven chapters.**

 **I hope you enjoy this foray into Elia and Meria's mind. And before anyone asks, no there is no mention of Meria's true personality within the canon of the books or the show. The only thing mentioned of her is that she had lots of miscarriages and or infant deaths, got slighted by Tywin over their children's potential marriage, was friends with Joanna and Rhallea and got her's when she had Elia marry Rheagor over Cersei. She's not even named as far as I can tell by looking up family trees.** **I've taken the liberty of taking that framework and trying to make someone who had to face a lot of opposition in Westori society and made it her bitch. The words of House Dorne is, after all, _Unbent, Unbowed and Unbroken._**

 **~Happy Reading,**

 **Moon Witch '96**


	13. Tywin III & Joanna III

_Tywin III & Joanna III_

Tywin found that a head-ache had established itself in his temples, and he blamed his blasted habit of clenching his teeth when he finds himself annoyed.

It was one he and Joanna had shared- and she had often jested that by the time they reached thirty they would have no teeth at all. _I will not have the chance to tease her about the continued possession of our teeth. How does something so idiotic make my heart feel so heavy?_ He eased into his bed, a heavy sigh escaping him. The fire thankfully was kept blazing at per his command for the day. So it was hot and filling the large room with a much-needed warmth after spending much of the day out in the Lion's Harbor. Blankets and warm fire-pits had kept most of the cold at bay, but there was something to say about your chambers being warm and waiting for you, the rest of the household _far away._ There were so many documents waiting for him in his solar, so many pending correspondences, so many affairs he had to tie over… But he was honest to himself and knew that the additional stress of having the Martells in his Court, while the needs of all Seven Kingdoms was on his shoulders… Well.

The words that Kevan had screeched at him somehow had settled in his mind and Tywin just wanted one quiet span of hours where he was not looking at anything that truly needed his attention. _I am the Lord of the Castle, the Hand of King, I can afford a reprieve of just a few hours, surely?_

Ayers was competent enough when it came to the day to day if needlessly insecure of his own decisions and the Small Council was made of men that would advise the King well. Steffon Baratheon had _promised_ to hold down the King's greater impulses which were where the biggest crises often stemmed from, and while he did not as sound as judgment as Tywin, his friend could always police his cousin to a better extent. Tywin knew of his importance to the management of the Seven Kingdoms. It was not simple vanity on his part or hearsay when they called him the Uncrowned King, but the Kingdoms could survive just a little longer without his every management. He had been promised three moons to entertain the Martels, and he was not going to spend them locked away in his office, tending to the Crown's correspondence. He could have some moments to himself. He would indulge himself.

 _Just this once, I will indulge myself with some peace and quiet._

Curiously, Areli, despite the obvious length of time it had taken to come to his chambers, had stayed wide awake. It was atypical for the child to not sleep for such a long period of time, nearly four hours at this point. She, on top of him, was eyeing her surroundings of the Lord's Chamber around him. She sat, tense atop of his chest. It is sort of unnatural, how still she was, how stiff she sat. Her little fists are clenched, and her head is moving around as if to try and understand her surroundings. But her body is still stock still atop of him. An unease that had taken the child the second he had taken her away from Jaime. _Did she prefer her brother to her father?_

"What ails you?" the question left his lips without his mean, his control all but lost in the wake of the stress. He felt as if he should feel ridiculous over speaking to her in such a manner. But since he has spoken during the ride to the Lion's Harbor to Areli, he found that he could not stop when they were alone.

He had changed her from her ridiculous dress, as they were excused from company until the welcoming feast, into the more common woolen shift that was typical to her. Something she would feel more comfortable in, something that would ease her from her foil mood. He himself had shed his doublet and wore only his trousers and his under-shirt. He thought perhaps her ill, sudden ugly mood from at the docks having been caused by some symptom or other he had failed to notice. He _should_ have noticed. If he failed to notice something and the child fell ill- or worse died-

Something in Tywin roared in protest at the thought.

 _You cannot go to Joanna when she has left you to_ _ **me**_ _._

"If only you could speak," he told her. If she could speak, she could tell him what was the matter.

She looked at him, the thin brows forced together. She then squirmed atop of him, before making a queer face. Areli rolled off of him, far too quickly for him to catch her as she tumbled onto the bed. Alarmed, Tywin could not stop his small yelp of fright. Areli, on all fours, faced him, her green and expressive eyes narrowed. She stared at him with her small face pinched and evidently displeased. She bared her gums just for a moment her impossibly small fists clawing at the bedding, the white fabric hardly a shade different from her skin. Tywin blinked at the surprisingly fierce image the child presented, the obvious body language of ' _stay away'_ screaming at him from his daughter.

Tywin slowly sat up, brows furrowed as the babe started to crawl away, backward without looking away from him. Looking for all the world like a corned animal scuttling away from danger. Faintly, he reached for her and was given a stern look. The babe wanted distance and gave another slight snarl.

"Perhaps you do not need to speak," he whispered, his heart twisting. His voice sounded weak even to his own ears- dare he think it, _hurt,_ over the rejection that his daughter displayed. He swallowed, and gave a noise to clear his throat, "Have you been coddled too much today?"

Areli, of course, did not respond. She looked at him, narrowed eyes widening at the sound of his voice. She then dipped her head, curls flying wildly as she gave a soft cry. It was a weak wobble, a prelude to a sob as she pressed her head against the bedding, curling into a small ball. Tywin carefully eased his way towards her, watching her little shoulders shake. The bed dipped as he made his way, and Areli weakly lifted her head, face vividly and alarmingly scarlet. It was a frightening contrast to the usual color of her skin, and he watched as tears fell from her red-rimmed eyes. No sound came from her lips pressed together to suppress her distress. He had never seen a child suppress sound when they cried. Jaime, being the soft boy that he was, had the tendency to wail to the seven heavens. Cersei was even louder. Even the morse prince was known to cry loudly when he was hurt.

Areli was actively curling into herself as if to make herself smaller and no sound beyond a small whine that was dulled by her pursed lips made it evident of her distress.

 _She is not a normal infant,_ the thought is sudden. And Tywin feels the truth settle into his very bones as he watched her cry silently in that tight ball.

He blinked and concluded that no child of his would ever be normal. Jaime had been excitedly energetic since infanthood, and from the Maester's words, could not read well if at all, despite Cersei being literate in the common tongue if illy. _Something I must address soon._ Cersei's Septa often penned concerned over her constant defiance of her lessons and had a penchant for being capricious, throwing ill-suiting tantrums for a Lady of her rank. The Imp's deformity was evident. Areli being similarly deformed by her pale skin was evident, but her actions were the most curious part of her. He did not know how to put a name to how she acted.

"I suppose you are not typically handled for long periods of time," he said, voice even, "You sit in your cradle in one attitude. Perhaps you tire of being held so long."

Areli green eyes stayed on him. Her lips seemed to tremble with the sheer effort to keep sound from escaping her. Tywin clenched his fists.

"A lioness needs not to suppress her roar. Our words are _hear me roar_."

Tywin eased his way closer. Carefully, so as not to alarm her, he pressed a hand on her back. She felt abnormally hot- more than likely a fever he had not noticed until it was much stronger. The girl _was_ sick. The girl was sick and he had not noticed. It was his own fault- he had given her to Jaime before the fever had set in and he doubted that his son would have known how wrong that was in a child if the fever had spiked at any point she had been in Jaime's arms. He also wondered if it was the effect of the cold air down at the Docks was so harsh. He started to rub her back, hoping it would ease some of the hurt she was evidently feeling. Areli's lips wobbled, once, twice, before a strangled sob escaped the baby. Tywin's headache meant nothing when the queer suppression of her hurt. He only kept rubbing her back as she cried.

He flipped, onto his stomach, resting his arm above in front of her, the other still rubbing her back. Little limbs trembling, she reached out to curl around his arm, hands hot on his bare skin, her forehead pressing into his arm. It blazed hot, too hot. He called for a servant, ignoring the maid's insipid reaction of his state of undress before he snarled at her to bring the Maester post-haste, with his portable medical satchel. She scurried out with wide, frightened eyes and Tywin growled softly.

"Settle still, little cub," he murmured, sternly. The moniker of cub slipped passed his lips easily, and the affection in his voice does as well, "Cease your growls and calm your roar. The Measter is on his way."

The girl, still crying, lifted her head away from his arm, looking to him with drooping, slightly glazed eyes. Perhaps following his voice. Had Joanna not said that thought babes do not understand the words of their parents, they would feel comfort in hearing them? He had thought her sentimental, a thought of fond exasperation at her gentle heart. Now he wished it to be true. The light green eyes, despite their haze, looked directly at him.

"You have such a look," he mused, and he startled himself by letting out a bark of laughter. It was short-lived, oddly clipped and stuttered within his ears. It was idiotic of him to show such distress, such weakness at the illness of his child. But he was alone and no one was there to judge save his baby.

He curled his arms tighter and was pleased that the child allowed him to bring her closer. He pressed his head into her stomach and was again quite surprised as Areli's hands sought purchase in his short hair. The hold is as it always is, firm, but not uncomfortable. Her scent is soft lavender, an oil he had generously poured into her bathwater. The tiny hands grip his hair and Tywin feels something tight in his throat at this small gesture of his child reaching back to him.

"Stern eyes, the look of command. You truly have my gaze. I wonder if you will keep such a serious temperament, like the young Prince. Or will you be as Jaime, with his ease and his smiles and the way he can hardly sit still? May the Seven will you won't follow in your sister's footsteps- she is young and her pride as a Lannister is rightfully strong, but it is not befitting of a Lady to be so willful. She needs a strong hand to curb her, else she will be too used to getting her way."

The baby turned her head away, stiff again as he talked of his frustration with his eldest. Joanna had often mentioned how troubling Cersei was in her long, endless letters. She would always say how sweet Jaime was- something that had irritated Tywin, unsure of how 'sweetness' would benefit his heir. But in practice, he has seen that Jaime is indeed much better behaved of the elder children. There is a defiance to Cersei. A look of anger in her eyes. Areli's grip in his hair became almost painfully tight but Tywin can hardly feel it in the wake of his headache or his slight panic of Areli being ill. He thought of the elegant hand of his wife, how careful her swirls and how delicate the weight of her hand. How her letters would always smell of the oiled perfume she favored, no matter how many ravens it had taken to reach him. He thought of how she always favored a cheaper coal-based ink no matter how much he insisted she pick up the Lannister Red he had custom made for the use of the main household.

"Joanna was never like that. No, from the moment I met her at seven name-days Joanna was the sweetest thing. She never disobeyed her parents, never questioned an order no matter how ridiculous. I had thought at first it had been meekness and dismissed her for it. I thought her soft in the head. What little does a boy of one and ten knows! I felt a twice a fool when I saw the meekness for quiet strength. For passion in her green eyes she tempered for the sake of those she cared for," he words tumbled out of him, an endless, sentimental tirade of the love he had just lost. Words he had barely dared speak in Joanna's direction in life are said to their youngest childlike one would confess to a Septon.

Tywin wondered, quietly, as his youngest relaxed against him again, her grip on his head, had grief turned him mad. Or worse, _soft_ in the wake of losing the most important thing in his life. Perhaps it had. But he felt impossibly old despite his youth of four and twenty. He felt so _tired_ without Joanna's warmth next to him. He blinked as tentatively, Areli started to run her hands through his hair in soft, careful strokes. When she began to knead into his scalp, Tywin could not help but let out a soft sigh of relief.

"Genna, was much the same as a child, but she had this way about her- With our father being as he was she hardly had many orders to obey and she took that advantage. I think the only time I had ever seen her truly wanting to disobey him was when he announced her engagement. She only did so because she had little recourse beyond marrying the idiot... I have little experience with little children, Areli and now I have four bellow five namedays to wrangle and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms need care. Aerys is well enough King, but he turns to me for every little thing."

Tywin was usually a man of few words, not for lack of anything to say, but for the gravity, he would impart into any of his words. But in his rooms, he had traditionally let his voice ramble and Joanna had taken them all. Hummed in agreement. Dared argue in some instances, a careful brow raised in question. It seemed he had already continued that tradition with Areli.

"The Dornish have at least given me an excuse of a reprieve. Though I will never say that to Princess Meria. She would be quite insufferable. The gall of that woman, thinking she has granted me any favor... Gods..."

The girl started to hum. Softly and slow, but then her voice gathered strength. Grew to a steady pitch. She did not quite sing. But her hum is slow and mournful. Slightly hoarse for her crying fit. But it soothed something in his heart. Tywin soaked in the comfort his youngest child offered him freely, took it with two greedy hands.

 **OOOOOOOOOOOO**

Part of Joanna felt lost in the wake of watching her daughter and her husband together in their own little cocoon of each other.

Tywin spoke in a long-winded way of his that had once been only Joanna's. He spoke at length of his thoughts, of his frustrations. His arms around Areli as their child reluctantly gave him comfort even in the wake of her own hurt and frustration. _Because you are too kind, even if he scares you for what he is capable of, you are too soft a creature not to reach out to anyone in pain and give kindness. How will that hurt you in this cruel world, my little lioness._ And he did it all with the air of grief that made Joanna wish she could reveal herself to him. That she could take him in her arms again and wish he was not such a practical man that had little use of spirits and the will of the Gods.

She had loved her husband for it. Living a world ruled by superstition, watching Rhallea be forced to marry her brother for the sake of the words of a crazy woman- Joanna had loathed that her friend had been bound to him. _A small part of her had been envious, she had never loved Aerys, but his obvious inclination and lingering eyes had made her think of the very real possibility of making the marriage that would finally alley House Lannister and House Targaryen together. Queen Joanna the First of her Name had sounded like the most beautiful song in her mind._ But the obvious disinclination that Aerys and Rhallea had been her greatest dislike of the union. The tears Rhallea had shed on her shoulder the morning after their first coupling had made her sure that the gods had little care for their creations.

" _I begged and begged but Aerys seemed not to hear me as he took me. Gods, Jo, why did it have to hurt so much? He said my maiden's blood was a fine tribute to our words."_

Tywin had called her beautiful after that frightful confession from her princess, catching her completely unaware of his inclination toward her. He had courted her in the following years with practicality, with the promise of wealth and the grace of later becoming the Lady of Casterly Rock. But with a frightfully attractive amount of emotion that had taken her breath away. No Gods had interfered, no woodswoman had given him any prophecy to make them husband and wife.

Only Tywin and Joanna had made the decision.

And now her opinion has been turned completely on its head. She wants and wants and wants of her husband. _But is that my own selfish grief? My own selfish madness at losing my life and my love? What sort of woman am I to be if I wish to change what I loved..._

" _You look troubled, Areli,_ " she spoke softer than usual, watching as Areli's little hands ran through her husband's golden blonde hair.

Her baby stilled. And then tired, impossibly tired green eyes turned to her. The girl does not pause in her hummed song nor the ministrations to Tywin. But she stared at Joanna in pure exhaustion. Lead by the days' events, or perhaps her confusion over Tywin's affection and moods toward her. Or even the evident illness she has gained to alarm her father. Either way, Areli's gaze is filled with exhaustion and grief and many things that remind Joanna that her child had once been someone else, not just a highly unusual child who could commune with the dead.

That something other then the babe that had quickened in her womb was in this small child. That someone with their own life had come to her, had grown within her alongside Tyrion after being torn from her own life, just as Joanna had. That that soul had become tied to Joanna in blood and pain, as she drew her last breath within her frightened husband's arms.

Touched by the Stranger only to be taken by the Mother and gifted to Joanna in the last months of her life.

Joanna did not forget this. But for the majority of being able to communicate with her youngest, she had ignored it. Focused stubbornly on the aspect of bringing her child to understand her new life, her new place in the world. _Everyone has always called me incredibly sweet, and kind. But they forget that I am also a proud woman. And my temperament has never been enough to prevent me from doing what was necessary._

Areli looked away. She only placed her chin on top of Tywin's in obvious exhaustion. Tywin reacted by easing the baby away, sitting up to curl her into his said not another word. Only rocked her back and forth silently. Areli gave a soft sigh and pressed her head softly into Tywin's chest and closed her eyes.

Joanna's heart rejoiced and trembled in the same beat.

" _The Maester will help you,"_ soothed Joanna, softly, daring to drift closer. Areli did not react as Joanna's transparent hands pressed carefully onto her forehead.

It was not sensation, exactly. It was nothing so concrete as Joanna ran her hands in a soothing motion along silvery curls. Joanna began to hum along with her daughter. The only indication that she felt or heard her was the smallest movement on Areli's part. She flinched at Joanna's hands. Put otherwise did not fight the comfort she bestowed. Joanna relished the obvious connection she was forging with her reluctant youngest. Maester Curwin entered the room with a knock, satchel in hand and a calm, collected look on his face despite the obvious shortness of breath.

The maid, Rosamund, stood nervously at the door, supplies in hand. The girl, barely four and ten, did not temper her expression and Joanna vaguely recalled she had hired the girl shortly before her death, in preparation of her coming child and the Martells soon to follow. She chastised the girl mentally for her obvious discomfort, and for the way her light blue eyes flickered needlessly's to Tywin's bare arms. Her husband was painfully thin to Joanna's eyes, but the diminished beauty of his form was lost to the young maid's eyes. Her cheeks grew rosy before the lowered demurely to the ground. Despite her relative newness, Joanna had no doubt that the maid had already heard what had occurred to the last maid that had attempted to seduce Tywin. Joanna had felt badly for the girl had she not wanted to ingrain herself with her husband.

"Lord Tywin," said Curwin, voice even, "You have called for my assistance."

With an automaticness that Joanna had always admired, Tywin controlled himself. His body, his expression of true unease faded with a quickness that the two servants would have failed to notice the change in the first place. All that stood in its place was a man-made of stone and iron. The Mighty Lord of Casterly Rock

"Leave the supplies and stand outside the door," Tywin said, cooly.

The maid hurried to follow instructions, eyes still lingering on Tywin as she scampered out the door. Joanna frowned, shaking her head and wished that the young girl would learn to temper herself. Else wise, the girl would not last long at the Rock.

"Areli is ill, a fever. I suspect she has caught a chill for being outside for too long," said Tywin and his voice dipped slightly in frustration before it cleared completely.

Curwin's brow furrowed and came to closely inspect the child as Tywin lowered her to the bed. His eyes, careful and assessing inspected the slight flush to Areli's face. With complete ease, he began to examine her, lowering his head to listen to both her heart and her breathing, expertly checking her limbs with probing fingertips, inspecting for things Joanna hoped would indicate, exactly as Tywin had said, a chill that would not be anything terribly serious.

"Her lungs are clear. Her joints are not swollen my lord, I suspect that the cold air has unbalanced her to some extent. It was the girl's first journey outside the castle, was it not?"

Tywin gave a curt nod.

"Then it is unsurprising she became ill. It must have been a stressful change for her."

Joanna complimented the fact that Measter did not bring up Tyrion, something the would no doubt upset her husband. Despite the fact she wished her husbands would show some care for their youngest son, Joanna did not want him to think of Tyrion at all at the moment. It was small steps- Areli would sway her husband to love her twin, Joanna felt that as sure as she knew anything.

"She is of a delicate disposition, then," Tywin said, softly, his voice carefully controlled. But Joanna watched as his fists tightened and how his jaw worked as he ground his teeth.

 _Were you hoping to take her to King's Landing, then, Tywin?_

The thought is sudden, but not entirely surprising. Tywin had always been possessive of what he loved, and the only reason she had not been in King's Landing herself was because of Rhaella.

" _You cannot stay here. The King-" Queen Rhaella grit her teeth, standing in a sudden movement that startled Joanna completely. She towered over her and gripped at the collar of her gown to the point that Joanna could hear the seams tearing, and screeched loudly, "HE LUSTS FOR YOU. MY HUSBANDS PLANS TO DISHONOR ME WITH YOU! YOU WHO HAS ALWAYS HAD HIS ATTENTION!"_

 _Joanna started, bewildered at the sudden change of tone, or the way Rhaella gripped her by the gown and hauled her to her feet._

" _Move," she hissed in her ear, dragging her by the gown._

 _Silently, Joanna followed Rhaella as she pulled her away from the Gardens, past corridor after corridor before she shoved her in what looked like a spare room in the lower guest corridor. Freeing her hold on her gown, Rhaella dashed for a wall, fingertips searching for a moment before she pressed into the wall. The brick clicked in a distant way, and the wall sunk in to show a secret passage behind the wall. Without truly understanding, Joanna rushed into the wall, Rhaella expertly closing it behind her. It was dark and smelled of dust and rot, but Joanna was more concerned by the way her friend began to wring her hands._

" _Your Grace?" she asked, softly, concerned._

 _Even in the dim light of the secret room, Joanna could see the glisten of tears in her friend's violet eyes._

" _Forgive me for the mummer's farce, Joanna. I fear the gardens have been infested with… Oh, I feel ridiculous to say this but with_ _ **spies**_ _," Rhaella huffed, pawing at her eyes to prevent tears from falling, "Its that new man, from Lys. The eunuch, with the flare for perfume and those obnoxious flowing robes of his. I am nearly positive that he has half the house-hold spied upon. I cannot_ _ **prove**_ _it and it is driving me insane. I swear he might be trying to report to Aerys but I-"_

 _Joanna's brow furrowed at the earnest way Rhaella looked at her, as she paused mid-rant. Rhaella flushed, the paleness of her skin highlighting the dark red of her embarrassment._

" _Rhaella," she told her softly, with no little amount of exasperation at her theatrics. Rhaella was infamously of the Taragyron temperament of dramatics, and Joanna loved the queen but sometimes felt impatience of her moods, "We have been spied upon since we were children, what in the Seven Heavens makes these spies more dangerous to us?"_

" _This… Varys is different. He hoards information and I do not like it."_

" _Information is power. I can agree with you there, your Grace. But why on earth that should concern you or I, I do not know. If he is trying to report to Aerys, is he not in your service? You are his Queen."_

 _Rhaella hissed._

" _To be in service to the King is not to be in service to me."_

 _Joanna sucked in a startled breath, surprised at the words that left Rhaella's mouth. The marriage to Aerys was by no means a happy one, but Rhaella was very aware of the duties she had undertaken when her family had pressed for such a marriage. She had taken to the marriage well enough, and though she complained of Aerys roughness in bed, she never had said anything this negative towards the King. By all means, she supported her brother-husband with the same attentiveness that Joanna paid to Tywin, no matter the difference in the level of true affection that laid between them._

" _Rhaella..."_

" _Are you not going to ask why I have painted you as a harlot?"_

 _Joanna pressed her lips tightly together._

" _I believe I was trying to restrain from asking for the sake of_ _ **tact,**_ _your Grace."_

" _You restrain yourself for me, Jo? Me? I who has loved you as if we were sisters? You restrain yourself? For tact? When has that ever stopped you before?"_

 _Joanna looked away, her heart throbbing at the heart in Rhaella's beautiful face._

" _Why on earth have you made me seem like a harlot you are jealous of?" she said, instead of answering her inquiry._

 _Rhaella looked away._

" _It's my brother," she admitted quietly. Despite the fact that Rhaella had bared nearly three babes, one living, Joanna rarely heard the Queen refer to Aerys as anything but 'brother' in private," He truly does lust for you. He got into his cups the other day- the things he said he would_ _ **do**_ _to you, Joanna. I have never been so scared in my life. He apologized… Said it was just the wines that caused him to name you. But he has enough mistresses for me to question. More and more I see maids of the Westerlands grace his bed, more and more golden blondes sait his lust. I fear for you. I do not think you should stay in King's Landing as my Lady any longer. I do not know when he will push this lust too far and force himself on you."_

" _Tywin would_ _ **kill**_ _him."_

 _Rhaella looked up, those tears she had suppressed falling fearly._

" _I would help him if my brother ever_ _ **dared,**_ _Joanna."_

 _Joanna felt as if she had been struck in the head, hand automatically, protectively on the babe that she suspected had quickened in her. Her little Tyrion or Areli to come, names she had thought of in private, to tell Tywin soon..._

" _I am with child. Like with Cersei and Jaime, I will go into seclusion to have the babe in peace. I just have not told anyone to delay my return to Casterly Rock... Will I really need to leave your service, My Queen?"_

 _Rhaella gave a sob._

" _As Princess Meria did before you. You are dismissed from my service, Joanna."_

 _Joanna blinked._

" _He wanted Meria-"_

" _ **Yes**_ _. Now go. Tell Tywin, Jo. I want him to be aware of the situation before he takes insult."_

 _Joanna gave a small smile, shaking her head._

" _He will be offended either way. Thank you, Rhaella, for telling me of this."_

" _How could I not?"_

Joanna's heart went to her husband. She understood the vicious need to keep near Areli. More than understood the urge. But she feared how Tywin's and the babe's health would be affected with even more prolonged exposure to the other. Tywin was not an easy man to understand, and Areli's gentle heart would always be conflicted in regards to him, of that, Joanna had little doubt. She was gladdened by Tywin's inclination, but she knew that Areli was close to being smothered by her father's strong love as well. For Joanna, it had been incredibly romantic, but for a child, suffering as much moral and mental anguish as rebirth, and trying to understand a man who was monstrous to her?

It was probably too much.

"She seems to be suffering. Is there nothing you can do to ease it?" Tywin barked.

Curwin gave a careful shake of his head.

"Not at the moment as the girl is much too young for any sort of tonic. I fear the best I can tell you is that she must be kept warm and for a cool cloth to be placed upon her forehead to ease the fever. It is wise to keep a mind of her breathing if it becomes labored or stilted with mucus… Perhaps it would be best to return her to the Nursery," Curwin had always had the magnificent gift of never making his words become an order, always giving his lord and lady their due.

Tywin hesitated.

"I will be sufficient to care for her, I am sure. If I am in need of you, I will call again."

"The welcoming feast for the Martels will be long and arduous, should I return to care for the child then, my Lord?"

Tywin sighed.

"Yes, Curwin."

Curwin dipped his head.

* * *

 **AN:**

 **Previous chapters edited! I finally got my shit together, and the author's note chapter has been deleted. Thank you so much for the people who reviewed on that chapter, but in the end, I decided that the flow of the story was cut up by that chapter, and I had to take it down.**

 **So. I want to address my portrayal of Rhaella and Aerys right here and now. To be perfectly blunt, this is the early years of the marriage so we can't really take any description of them from the characters of** _ **A Song of Ice and Fire**_ **as how they act now, nearly thirty-something years before. Aerys has only been on the throne for seven years at this point, nearly eight. In all accounts, while not the smartest tack in the box, Aerys was said to be a competent King until a certain point in his reign. That it was a combination of all the stillbirths and miscarriages and the events of Duskendale that had Aerys** _ **really**_ **losing his fucking shit.**

 **In most sources I can find, Aerys was described as being quick to anger no matter what point in his life, easy to fall for flattery and charismatic despite everything, and really fucking tactless at times. His nastier traits were always present but only started to get worse after he had lost his children in childbirth and he was held, hostage. Rhaella, like many of the important dead women of** _ **A Song of Ice and Fire**_ **, that died at the end of Robert's Rebellion has no real canonical sources to what her personality was.**

 **We do know that she had little to no affection for Aerys, that she tried her damnedest to protect Veserys from the worst of Aerys and that due to the Aerys she was isolated a lot from the majority of people. And that she had some sort of friendship with Joanna, and the Princess of Dorne but excused them from her service for whatever reason. Most attributed that to her brother's wandering eyes and hands. And that she loved her children fiercely. That's it.**

 **So. Yup. These people have a character more than Rhaella's just a victim and acting numb and has no semblance of a personality whatsoever as I have so constantly seen her portrayed, and Aerys is just crazy as fuck mass-murdering fuckhead.**

 **The amazing thing of Martin's work is that almost no one goes from normal person to fucking monster from birth. I can only really think of one exception to that and that's the Mountain, one of the few true sociopaths in the world, which is frightfully accurate to the real world. It is very rare for people to be just be born without empathy and everyone in this fic is hopefully a reflection of that as well. Everyone is nuanced, has grown into the person they are, for better or for worse, over the course of their life.**

 **Rhaella and Aerys are in their twenties, nearly twenty years before Robert's Rebellion. They have a lot of time between now and then to grow into the people that are described in** _ **A Song of Ice and Fire**_ **series. I wish to explore the before, through the lens of Areli, and see the world before everything went to shit. I can't claim to be anywhere near Martin's level of competency and nuance, but if I can get a fraction of that I will be very well pleased.**

 **~Happy Reading,**

 **Moon Witch '96**


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